


Grounds for Murder

by cinderellasleftshoe, sarcasticbones



Series: Grounds for Murder Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, And She Curses This Much in Real Life (Sorry-ish), Author Doesnt Do Jealousy, Author is a Charter Member of the Insomnia Club, Biting, Blood and Gore, Coffee Shop Owner Castiel, Destiel is endgame, Detective Dean Winchester, Don't Try This At Home, F/M, Genderfluid, Girl Power, Graphic Imagery, Gun Violence, I Heart Boys in Eyeliner, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, One Time Threesome Thing/Friends With Benefits, POV Multiple, Racist Language, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Stalking, Tortured Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 199,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderellasleftshoe/pseuds/cinderellasleftshoe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticbones/pseuds/sarcasticbones
Summary: "The weirdos in that coffee shop are always dancing, or playing 'strip Clue,' whatever that is. Once there were sock puppets, and, I'm not kidding, a cookie trebuchet.""Eyeliner?""Really, Dean? That's all you got out of all of that. That there's maybe a bangable emo guy over there?"Dean shrugged and took another too-large bite of his sandwich. He'd been a detective with the Phoenix PD Violent Crimes bureau for three years, and he'd see a lot stranger things than sock puppets, old ladies, and strip Clue.***Charlie and Castiel own a coffee shop. Dean is a star detective with the Phoenix PD who likes good coffee. Sam owns a neighboring sandwich shop. A series of too-close-for-comfort crimes rattle local business owners and get the gossip flowing. Dean investigates and falls for a blue-eyed barista. Somewhere in the bottom half of this thing, it gets all serious crime drama-y. Tune in for the flirting, dark humor, caffeine, sexy geeks, and smut, and stay for the crime/thriller plot that sneaked in here along the way.





	1. Soft Opening and Hard Candy - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to technical shenanigans, only half of this chapter posted the first time I tried to upload it. I put the second half in chapter two and prayed to the technology goddesses that you all wouldn't quit reading after a boring first chapter about furniture and board games.

"This is the last box of games," Castiel huffed as he dropped the final Rubbermaid tote on the floor behind Kevin Tran, his assistant manager and comrade in all things coffee. Kevin blew an exaggerated sigh of relief as he popped open the tote and began marking "GfM" in Sharpie on the game boxes before sorting them into the tall bookcase already crammed with games, books, and puzzles, "Whew! Awesome! I'm getting high off marker fumes here."  
  
Castiel laughed, "are you sure it isn't the drying paint, the concrete floor sealant, or the August heat?" He passed Kevin a sweating bottle of ice water and then opened one for himself. He looked around. After two weeks of near-round-the-clock effort, Grounds for Murder was ready for its soft opening. 

It was a pretty good space, if Castiel said so himself. The ground floor, corner location at Taylor Place was almost ideal. ASU Downtown student housing occupied all the upper floors and students and faculty drink a lot of coffee. It was also in the middle of the revitalizing arts and entertainment district, where street artists mingled with corporate lawyers, foodies, and the sports and concert venue crowds. The light rail was just a short walk, and Castiel had already been in touch with the Library, the Parks department, and the Police department. Grounds for Murder would be a location for regular community events, like book groups, senior socials, Coffee with a Cop, and author readings. 

Charlie, Dr Charlie Bradbury, Professor of Biomedical Informatics, his investor and friend, had helped out with the interior. They had a large glass case for selling pastries and sandwiches sourced from two local bakers and a vegan cafe. They had a cold case for kombucha, juices and fancy sodas. Counter seating rounded out the service area. For customer seating they had comfy sofas and over stuffed chairs in conversational seating in front of all the windows. There were tables and chairs perfect for homework or grading papers. There were bathrooms in a narrow hallway, and at the end of the hall, another room with larger, community style tables for study groups, gaming groups, and meetings. Between the bookcases stuffed with games and books, and the conveniently located power strips for charging laptops and phones, Castiel thought he and Charlie had put together a place that was comfortable and functional for lots of different types of customers.

For the walls, they'd chosen a soft, neutral gray. The stuffed furniture was charcoal, and the tables were light wood. The concrete floor was stained a warm, deep ochre. Artwork offered for sale by local artists hung in available wall space. And the lighting was industrial-Edison- style, which Castiel had thought was too precious but Charlie insisted it was perfect for her "vision." If he got thirty kinds of teas in jars behind the counter, she got fancy light fixtures. 


	2. Soft Opening and Hard Candy - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to technical shenanigans, only half of CH1 posted. So I'm posting the other half as CH2. Heavy side-eye to the technological elves who get up to these shenanigans.

Another thing Charlie got was the dedicated business internet service and the superfast routers. Yes, it wasn't cheap, but Charlie argued that she would be working here when she wasn't in her uni office, and she *needed* "the good interwebbing." She pointed out that it wasn't like they really wanted to earn a big profit, and Cas caved. He wanted fast internet too. He wanted to lie on the pullout in the back office and stream movies any time he felt like it. Which, he imagined, was going to be a lot since Charlie liked him around while she was grading, but with his Gender Studies PhD, he wasn't exactly a big help to her. But he could be reasonable company with some online gaming or Netflixing to occupy his attention.

 

Castiel was a trust fund baby and Charlie had a nice pile of investments lying around after she cashed out of the biotech startup to go back and get her PhD and teach at a university. The coffee shop for gamers and students was their big idea one night a few years ago when they were both buzzed enough to admit to each other that to be 28 and be in grad school for lack of anything better to do was probably going to get them into trouble someday. It's a much longer story, but that's the one they're going public-facing with.

 

Castiel and Charlie had rounded out their interior design considerations by running conduit up all the walls to create charge stations for phones and computers within reach of virtually every table and chair. Cas looked around at his new and nearly-ready-for-opening domain. His and Charlie's, although he would manage it for the most part. His. And he was happy. There was probably an academic paper somewhere in his and Charlie's introverted-extroverts coffee shop as a place where people came to be alone together. But he wasn't going to write it. He was however, going to add to their website About page that "weirdos are welcome."

 

He headed back to the office to make that specific update. His/their office was a pullout couch, a coffee table, a flat screen tv mounted to the wall opposite the couch, a safe, a storage cupboard, an easy chair, a side table, and a height-adjustable desk with ergonomic chair. It was almost as nice-modern as Cas' loft and almost as comfortable as Charlie's historic house in the Coronado neighborhood. He'd just sat down to bring up the website when someone knocked on the door and then swung it open.

 

"Heya Cas!" Charlie said from behind an armload of boxes.

 

"What have you got there!?" Cas asked as he hopped up from his chair to grab the top box from her arms.

 

Charlie also had a messenger bag for her laptop slung across her body and a cardboard tube tucked into the bend of her elbow. "They're swag bags for our soft opening!"

 

"We have swag bags?"

 

"Of course we have swag bags! I'm inviting people from the college, and I want to give them swag! There's like four more of these boxes full of swag bags in my car too. I'll text Kevin to ask him to haul them in here."

 

"So, um, what's in our swag bags now that we have them?" Cas was amused. He'd planned to pass trays of cookies from the local vegan bakery and serve regular and decaf drip. Their friend, Hannah, owned a fancy cheese and charcuterie shop a half mile away, and she was bringing a few cheese and meat trays. There was a case of [Willamette Valley](http://willamettewines.com/) pinot noir and a case of New Zealand sauvignon blanc in the storage closet. Along with several packs of red Solo cups. So sue him, he liked the classics. But this was the first he'd heard of 'swag.'  
  
  
"Oh, you'll love them. Each one has a vinyl sticker of our logo, perfect for laptops and car windows. A vinyl sticker of the Local First AZ logo to show we are a local business and support other local businesses. Our loyalty punch card. And a coffee mug with our logo on it that is filled with [Cerreta](http://cerreta.com/about-us/) French mints. Awesome, right!?"  
  
  
"Oh! Local candy maker! Awesome!" Cas grabbed one of the pretty paper swag bags and started pawing through it. He pulled out a heavy white mug with "Grounds for Murder" in black courier lettering. The "o" in "for" was stabbed through with an old fashioned fountain pen, and blood spots dripped from it. He loved their logo. And the black and red looked so good against the white ceramic. He unwrapped one of the chocolate mint candies and popped it in his mouth, "this swag is mine," he said smiling with chocolate on his teeth.  
  
  
Charlie giggled and heaved her box onto the floor in front of the storage cupboard just as Kevin pushed through the office door arms loaded with another box. She waved him toward where she placed the first one, and she drew the cardboard tube with a sword-like flourish. "And the printers finished our 'Grand Opening' sign!"

 

Kevin, Charlie and Cas grinned ridiculously at each other. This was going to be so much fun.  
  
  
Now all they had to do was drive home, clean up, dress up, and be back here in four hours for the 7PM soft opening. Kevin offered to set the swag bags up on one of the community tables and be back at six to meet Hannah and Aaron, the vegan baker, who was providing the frosted sugar cookies and shortbread. They fist bumped and set off.  
  
  
***   
  
  
At 7:28PM, twenty minutes after Kevin opened the front and back doors, Grounds for Murder was filling up with Charlie's students and colleagues, local friends from the First Fridays art scene, and events coordinators from the library, senior center, parks dept, and local bookstores. Castiel, wearing black skinny jeans and a slim cut, untucked, black button down was moving from cluster to clump of guests, pouring pinot noir from the bottle in his left hand while hugging everyone with his right. Kevin, in dark, classic 5-button Levis, a white button down with sleeves rolled up and topped with a well-tailored charcoal waistcoat, was performing a similar dance with the sauvignon blanc among the guests seated in the comfy couches and chairs along the windows. Charlie, in clogs, tights, a mod black and white colorblocked, a-line dress, red hair flashing beneath a black felt Fedora, was standing on the coffee bar shouting about swag, chocolates, and bloodlust. 

 

At 8PM, it was standing room only. Charlie had sent a text, and more wine had shown up in the arms of a grad student. Another grad student arrived with boxes of donuts from the small donut shop down the street. Wine and donuts. The burgeoning crowd cheered as the deliveries came through the front door. Kevin kept making coffee.  
  
  


By 9PM, a Fire Marshall arrived, shoving her way through the crowd to Castiel who was sitting on the bar swinging his legs and regaling some of Charlie's grad students with tales of their grad school hijinks. The marshall took a deep breath and shouted, "I hear you're the manager and host of this event, sir."  
  
  
"Yep," laughed a slightly tipsy Castiel. "I'm Cas. Would you like wine or coffee?" he yelled back offering his hand. The marshall shook it. "I'm Pamela. I'll have the coffee. And you're going to have to shift some of these people outside, sir."  
  
  
"The outdoor tables and chairs we ordered haven't arrived yet," he projected over the din of his guests while making vague circular gestures with his hands. He teetered a bit and then steadied himself. With one hand braced on the bar, he gestured with his other to to Kevin who was behind the bar. Kevin grabbed a large to-go cup and began filling it with the medium-dark-local-roast drip coffee.  
  
  
"That's not quite what I meant, Cas. You've got too many people in here. One of your neighbors called in worried about the occupancy of your place and the size of this crowd. He was right. You're packed like sardines in here. You need to clear some of them out. Oh, thank you," she nodded at Kevin as she accepted her coffee. Kevin pushed the pitcher of cream and the dish of sugar to her. She shook her head and then accepted a lid for her travel cup.  
  
  
 "Oh. Well. Um. I actually don't know who all of these people are, or where they came from anyway. Huh. Kevin! We're closed for the night!" Castiel hopped off the counter and saluted Kevin. Who gave Cas a very serious look and returned a snappy salute, "Yes sir! Guests be gone!" Kevin vaulted over the counter, and he and Castiel began wading into the crowd.   
  
  
"OK, people, time to move this party somewhere else!"  
  
  
"Grab your swag and skeedaddle!"  
  
  
"Thanks for coming, but now you're going!"

  
The boys shouted more and more ridiculous salutations, as they hugged and shoved their guest toward the door. Charlie gave them a smirk from across the shop and ducked into the office. Suddenly [Semisonic's "Closing Time"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGytDsqkQY8) began playing loudly over the sound system.

  
Charlie hopped onto the counter shouting, "THANK YOU EVERYONE! AND GOODNIGHT!"  
  


The fire marshall watched the shenanigans from her place at the counter with an amused expression. She sipped her, wow, excellent, cup of coffee as the good-natured crowd laughed, exchanged final hugs, and made their way to the door. This group would bear watching, she thought. They were something else. And they made a decent cup of joe.   
  
  
  



	3. Patios Are for Weirdos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more than a month has passed since the coffee shop opened. It's late September, and the scant 100-degree weather is hinting at fall.
> 
> Sam makes sandwiches. Sam hates his new coffee shop neighbors. Dean likes coffee and little old ladies. Little old ladies like coffee, book group, and sandwiches. This is like one of those algebra problems where you figure out how many sandwiches and cups of coffee go into the group and how much aggravation and flirtation comes out.

"GAH!" Sam growled in frustration. "What is WRONG with those weirdos!?" He was bussing the tables of his sandwich shop outdoor patio, but half of the dirty dishes were white "Grounds for Murder" mugs. Sam piled all of the mugs into one shallow, rectangular rubber bin and his cafe dishes into another. "This is MY patio!"

 

Dean, who was sitting at one of the empty patio tables at 3PM on a sunny September afternoon eating a meatball and special cheese blend sub, asked through a mouthful of meatball, "what weirdos?"

 

"Those weirdos from that new coffee shop next door, 'Grounds for Murder.'" Sam set the mug bin down on a table and made air quotes around the coffee shop name. Then he wiped his hands on his apron and placed them on his hips. Facing Dean, he complained, "every Tuesday at 11AM, a bunch of blue hairs have 'bookgroup' in there. There's a 30-ish goth-looking guy with eyeliner, a nerdy looking kid who dresses like a 19th century saloon gambler, and a pale skinned, red haired girl who I swear is a refugee from Middle-earth. The old ladies sit in their shop and drink coffee and discuss whatever they discuss, then they bring their mugs of coffee over here and sit on my patio and gossip until the Dial-a-Ride shuttle bus shows up to pick them all up. Every time they meet, I have to collect all their crap and haul it back over to the coffee shop. And the weirdos in there are always dancing, or playing 'strip Clue,' whatever that is. Once there were sock puppets, and, I'm not kidding, a cookie trebuchet. I drop off their damned pile of mugs, and they say 'thank you' and smile like I work for them or something."

 

"Eyeliner?"

 

"Really, Dean? That's all you got out of all of that. That there's maybe a bangable emo guy over there?"

 

Dean shrugged and took another too-large bite of his sandwich. He'd been a detective with the Phoenix PD Violent Crimes bureau for three years, and he'd see a lot stranger things than sock puppets, old ladies, and strip Clue.

 

"Dean! I'm trying to run a business here!" Sam gestured to the eponymous business sign above his head: "Gourmet Sammiches."

 

"And that business is doing great. You've got college kids and business people lined up out the door at lunch every day. I'm sure you can handle a few little old ladies sitting on your patio."

 

"Oh my god. Dean. It's the principle of the thing! If they want their customers to use outdoor seating, they should get their own!"

 

"That's a good point, Sammy. Did you tell the weirdos to get their own furniture?" Dean asked over his sandwich with a completely straight face. The perfected detective face - an expression that blended competence, concern, and a cool head.

 

"Don't do your Detective Dean jedimindtricks on me, Dean! And yes, I asked the gambler-dandy kid if they were getting patio furniture. He told me the goth guy had ordered some, but it was still with the blacksmith, and it wasn't ready yet. What does that even mean? The blacksmith. Is that kid role-playing his wild west thing? I don't even know..." Sam trailed off as Dean raised both of his hands in the universal sign of 'stop.'

 

"Dude. Chill. I'll talk to them next week. It will be fine."

 

Sam sighed, "thanks, Dean. Unless you want to do it now? You can carry their mugs back to them?"

 

Once again, Dean was made to realize that he had a guardian angel watching over him because at just that moment his partner, Detective Jo Harvelle, pulled up in her city issued vehicle. She rolled down her window, "Boys, I'm looking for a detective, has anyone seen one?" 

 

Dean shoved down his last bite of sandwich, gathered up his dishes and bussed them into Sam's bin. "Gotta go, brother. I'll talk to your weirdos next week."

 

"See you at our place for dinner Sunday afternoon?" Sam called after his older brother.

 

Dean pulled his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and placed them on his face. He opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat, passing Jo a to-go bag Sam had prepared for her. She leaned out her driver's side window and said to Sam, "he'll be there. And he's bringing the beer this time. I'll text Jess and see what she wants me to bring."

 

"Great, Jo. Thanks! Oh, and Jess wants you to call when you get a few minutes. She's got a buddy pass for her pilates studio."

 

"Oooh! I'll do that. See you Sunday!"

 

Sam watched his brother and his brother's best friend pull away. He sighed again and picked up the bin of coffee mugs. It was time to return them to the weirdos.

 

When Sam pushed the Grounds for Murder door open with his hip, the five notes from Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) chimed. He rolled his eyes.

 

The goth guy was sitting at a table with four undergrads and their laptops. The kid in the waistcoat was behind the counter, and the redhead was sitting on the counter with a ukulele in her lap. The redhead looked up and smiled at him. Sam walked toward her passing the table with the students and the goth guy. "No, see, in rhetorical analysis, you need to ask yourself not just what is being said but why the speaker chose those words instead of all the other words she could have chosen. Why are those words appropriate for that audience at that event?" A female student with long, blonde braids said, "well, Karrueche apologized because people were offended." The goth laughed. "That's never why celebrities apologize." The girls at the table beamed at him like he was covered in whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Sam grimaced and continued up to the bar to set down his bin. The waistcoat kid quickly emptied out the coffee mugs. 

 

"Thanks!" The redhead chirped as she strummed a chord.

 

"Yeah, thanks!!" the kid added and performed a couple of soft shoe steps to the chord ending with a jazz hands flourish.

 

"You're welcome," Sam replied with a forced smile. He turned and made his way back toward the door, passing the table with the goth guy and the female students who were giggling and typing on their laptops. The goth waved as Sam passed. 

 

He opened the door on his way out and it again chimed the notes from Close Encounters. Weirdos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed. Please leave me a comment if there are errors I need to fix. I'm supposed to be writing a book chapter that is overdue to my editor, so of course, instead I'm making progress on this fic. Please leave me a comment if you're procrastinating too. Or you know, just leave me a comment to say hi, rant about my terrible story, or tell me your favorite academic procrastinating strategies. It's been in the 70s here in the south, but it's supposed to freeze tomorrow night. Comments and kudos keep me warm :D


	4. Book Biddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a book club and their boyfriends.

Since their soft opening a few weeks ago, Kevin, Charlie, and Castiel had settled into a comfortable weekday routine. Becky, a communications master's student and early riser they'd shamelessly swiped from the chain coffee shop down the road with an offer of higher pay, a fixed schedule, and healthcare, was their opening assistant manager. Becky would show up at 4:45AM to receive the day's deliveries of baked goods and sandwiches. She would check to see if the wifi was up and reboot the routers, set up the first batches of brewed coffee, pour the milk, cream, and coconut milk into the serving pitchers, refill the napkins and raw and white sugars if they needed it (read: if Castiel forgot to do this before closing the night before), and check that the overnight cleaners had set up the bathrooms and garbage cans for the morning customers. Using the tablet app Charlie had configured for everyone, Becky would check stock and make inventory notes. Bouncing into the office, she would then pull a cash drawer from the safe and tell Alexa to play triphop music on the sound system. With a final glance around to ensure that everything was perfect, Becky would set her own cup of Earl Grey brewing. Then, at 5:45AM, she would unlock the doors for the early morning types. 

 

At 10AM, Kevin would arrive to relieve her at the counter. While he'd check stock and make a few inventory notes, refill the pitchers, and top off the napkins and sugars, Becky would run the program that tallied the morning sales and take her cash drawer back to the office to count it and move or take cash from the safe to resettle the drawer. She'd eyeball the cash on hand and make a note in the app if they were running low on small bills. Since almost everyone used cards to pay for their transactions, especially since they accepted the student meal plan cards, this almost never happened, but it was part of their carefully designed-by-Charlie workflow. Never ask a scientist/computer programmer to set up your workflow unless you want it meticulous and clean.

 

By 10:45AM, Becky, along with with the two opening baristas, would be heading out the door for her classes or research hours. The part-time baristas moved their shifts around to accommodate their coursework since most were undergrads, so the opening crew was constantly changing. But not Becky. Becky was as consistent as the sunrise. On her way out, Kevin would hand her a to go cup of tea he'd made her, and she'd cheerfully wave and singsong that she'd see him tomorrow. Kevin would roll his eyes at her way-too-sunny disposition, but he liked Becky. She never made mistakes, the shop was always immaculate, and neither Kevin, Charlie, nor Castiel were morning people. In fact, if Charlie had to deal with anyone before noon and three cups of coffee, she really did consider that grounds for murder. Which isn't the inspiration for the name of their shop, but it's one of the stories they tell people. 

 

The first Thursday after Labor Day, Kevin arrived at Grounds for Murder at 10AM. He slipped on his apron and grabbed the tablet computer from behind the counter. Becky, who had been chatting with a couple of lawyerly-looking women at a table with their laptops smiled and called to him to hold up. She made some final enthusiastic gestures with her hands and the women laughed along with her. Then she bounced up to the front of the store, "Hi! Did you see that today is our first bookgroup day!?"

 

"Right! Castiel texted me about it last night. He's very excited."

 

"He texted you?" Becky pushed out her lower lip at the imagined slight. Kevin hid a smile behind a sip from his mug. 

 

"Yeah, he wanted to make sure I saved a grouping of comfy chairs and sofa for them in the front window."

 

"Huh. He doesn't want them at the community tables in the back where they'd have lots of table space to pile all their mugs, plates, books, and bags on?"

 

"Nah. He wants them up front where they can see everything and everyone can see them." Kevin pitched his voice lower, "he thinks it will 'build community.'" Kevin curled his fingers in air quotes around 'build community.' And Becky giggled. Kevin did a pretty fair impression of Castiel. Returning his voice to his normal timber, Kevin added, "He says he sent a reserved sign to the printer in the office for the coffee table up there so I can hold the space for them."

 

"Oh, awesome! I'll bring the sign up to you when I finish with the cash."

 

***

 

Becky laughed softly to herself when she found the sign on the printer. She folded the paper lengthwise into thirds so it made a triangle sign, and then she headed out front to pick up her tea and say goodbye to Kevin. On her way out the door, she spoke briefly to the two accountant-looking types who were sitting and reading newspapers on the sofa in the seating grouping she wanted to reserve. They smiled, thanked her, and assured her they'd be gone by the time the bookgroup arrived at 11AM. Becky dropped the triangle sign onto the coffee table in the middle of the seating grouping, threw one final wave to Kevin, and bounced out the front door.

RESERVED 11AM-1PM for THE BOOK BIDDIES

 

***

At 10:55AM, the Dial-a-Ride van rolled up, stopped in front of Grounds for Murder, and several smartly dressed senior women stepped out of the van and onto the sidewalk. They waved to their driver and headed into the coffee shop. "Good Morning!" Kevin called as they came through the door. "You're in the front to the right." The women talked briefly amongst themselves, then three sat down and began pulling items from their tote bags and arranging them on the coffee table. Three more women walked up to the counter to place orders for the group. Emily and Zach, the baristas today, started working on their orders while Kevin grabbed a plate of currant scones Castiel had ordered and Becky had set aside for them this morning. The baristas told the book club members they'd bring the drinks out to them while Kevin put his plate on a tray and collected spoons, a sugar bowl, a creamer pitcher, and a honey bear bottle for the group. By the time he got over to the bookgroup, four more women had arrived, making the group a total of ten.

 

"Hi! I'm Kevin. Welcome to the Grounds for Murder family. We're so glad you're here. Castiel asked me to say hello, and he sent you these scones."

 

"Nice to meet you Kevin, I'm MJ," said the woman seated in a comfy chair. She quickly ran down the names of her friends, "and this is Cora, María, Kathi, Amy Sue, Rosemary, Sarah, Carol, Margo, and Sandy."

 

"Baked treats!? That Castiel is such a sweet boy," Rosemary gushed. "Will he be here today?"

 

"Yes, Castiel is very sweet," Kevin agreed sincerely, "and I know he was sad to miss you today. He won't be in until later this afternoon. But he said to tell you that he's keeping up with the reading list and the blog and he hopes to join you next week."

 

Rosemary and Sarah tittered together, and Kevin swallowed back a laugh. "What book are you starting with?" He figured it was going to be Agatha Christie or one of those cozy mysteries his mom reads.

 

MJ waved her Kindle at him - the screen was displaying a book cover in dark colors with a woman's silhouette. "Girl Jacked by Christopher Greyson," said MJ. The other women waved either their books or book readers at him too. 

 

"Oh! I wasn't... expecting popular fiction, ... I guess," Kevin's forehead creased in thought.

 

"Well, we're popular girls!" Sarah wagged her eyebrows at him and the Biddies all laughed together. "Castiel didn't tell you our book club reads _murder_ mysteries? In your _murder_ coffee shop?" She leaned forward, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose pinning him like the professor he at that moment realized she must be.

 

"No, he didn't. I'm kind of disappointed he didn't mention it." Kevin shrugged in a gesture of apology.

 

"Ah well," Sarah said, expression blank, "don't take it out on him. Real murder is messy." And then the group burst into laugher again causing giddy nervous bubbles to float up inside Kevin's chest. These women were going to be a hoot. But he'd have to stay on his toes.

 

***

Clicking through her ipad, looking for her discussion notes, MJ spoke in voice loud enough for her girls to hear, but not so loud as to carry across the shop, "that Kevin is a cutie."

 

"Yes, he is," smirked María, "but not so cute as that Castiel. I like them tall."

 

"You're barely five feet tall yourself," Cora snorted. "You'd have to get on a step stool to reach Castiel."

 

"He's a gentleman," Amy Sue cut in, her expression thoughtful. She nodded, "I'm sure he'd help María with the logistics."

 

The group giggled again into their coffee mugs. "A gentleman?" Cora inserted skeptically. "I don't know about all that. He seems to be just the right amount of rough around the edges to me."

 

"He gave us pastries and sent his employee to welcome us," objected Amy Sue. "That's very polite and gentlemanly."

 

Conservative Sarah, the right side of her mouth quirked up said, "Sweets. From a boy who looks like Castiel looks and moves like Castiel moves. That is classic seduction and that boy is pure sex." The left side of her mouth joined the right as she widened in a bright smile at having shocked her friends. Again the Biddies collapsed into laughter.

 

From his position behind the counter, Zach, the 20-year-old econ student shrunk in on himself and busied his hands with stacking mugs. "What's up?" Kevin asked, concerned.

 

"They scare me," Zach shivered as another wave of laughter erupted from the book group. 

 

"Strong women aren't your type?" Kevin scoffed and moved a plastic bin of dirty cups to his hip to carry into the kitchen for washing.

 

"Strong women are terrifying!" Zach hid his wide-eyed expression with wiping down the counter.

 

"Better not let Charlie or Cas hear you say that. Or they'll have you opening with Becky everyone morning just for spite."

 

"Oh god," the younger man whimpered.


	5. "Hot Pockets" and Other Names We Call Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our weirdo coffee geeks are snarky.

Charlie stopped by Grounds for Murder after lunch to top off her caffeine levels and visit with Kevin. He'd had good reason to quit the doctoral program, she knew. But he was smart, talented, and hard working. She wanted very much to keep him close - keep an eye on him - while he recovered from his bad experiences and figured out what he wanted to do next. He didn't know it yet, but what he was going to do next, if Charlie had anything to say about it, was get back into the program. Truth be told, Charlie felt a bit guilty about the whole thing. She'd seen the signs, but given her own tough workplace experiences, and her own battle scars, she'd missed them, and then it was too late to do anything to put the train back on the tracks. Even if the situation could have been salvaged, Kevin didn't want to make formal reports, which was another thing. Without formal reports, without complaints and documentation, the admins would likely chalk the whole thing up to competitive graduate students undermining each other, which in a lot of programs, was just business as usual. Not in any program Charlie wanted anything to do with. But she knew the ropes. She had a lot of work to do to reconfigure this program so this sort of abuse could never happen again, but none of that was about Kevin. Kevin was her friend. And Kevin needed time, support, and friendship. And she was going to give him those things.

 

Charlie was glad to have introduced Kevin to Castiel whose academic expertise with "complicated gender shit" made him a safe place for Kevin. If Kevin ever opened up about the whole mess. They were working him up to it by building trust and friendship. In the meantime, Kevin was a damned good day manager/coffee shop captain, and Charlie relaxed easily aboard his tightly run ship.

 

She could work in the office, but Charlie wanted to be alone with people, so she set her laptop up at a two-person table against the wall. She knew Castiel would join her when he finished up at a table on the other side of the room. 

 

Castiel, for his part, had come in at 11AM, several hours earlier than his usual day, so he could discuss _Girl Jacked_ with the Book Biddies. They were a cool group of gals. He liked that they had a blog where they posted about their current books and meetings. They had reviews and member profiles. They had an Instagram account where they posted their group pics and selfies, and it streamed the images to their blog page. He was pleased to see several pics featuring Grounds for Murder interiors and their iconic mugs. It was a diverse group of women, as he was only just beginning to discover. He also discovered that they met at a couple of the women's houses and had Dial-a-Ride pick them up there. GfM was their first stop of their day. After book group, they had Dial-a-Ride pick them up and drop them off at a revolving list of foodie lunch spots where they, apparently, ate a lot of food, drank a lot of wine, and had a lot of fun. They'd invited him to join them, and he'd planned on taking them up on it one day.

 

After he finished up with Book Biddies, hugged them all (even if some hugs were a bit too handsy), he did some paperwork (well, computerized paperwork because the management of GfM simply did not do actual paper), and then rejoined Kevin and Zach in the shop to help with the afternoon customers. As he was delivering drinks to table full of young women working on their laptops, he overheard their confusion about the essay they were supposed to be writing for their composition class. Dropping off each drink, he made a suggestion about underlining certain kinds of words in their writing sample and then focusing on just those words, and the girls got excited and asked him if he had any other good ideas. Castiel hadn't wanted to be a professor. He earned his gender studies phd because he wanted it. But tenure track was grueling, and he didn't have an impressive success in a biotech startup to tempt a big research university to offer him time to tenure like Charlie. But Cas often missed teaching undergrads. It was rewarding seeing someone's face when a new idea solidified or comprehension settled into place. Smiling he gestured to a chair, and the girls gleefully shuffled their own chairs around to make room for him at their table. He sat down, and one of the girls passed him the assignment prompt from their professor. 

 

Watching him, Charlie suppressed a warm grin. She had complained all through grad school about teaching, but Cas had taken to it like breathing. He was a natural. Through the window she caught sight of the sandwich shop guy bussing GfM mugs from a couple of tables on his patio and tossing them into a plastic bin with a grumpy expression on his face. The Book Biddies had taken their mugs out to his patio tables to wait for their ride after their first meeting, and they'd been doing it for the three weeks since -- recently they'd taken to pushing the sandwich shop's outdoor tables and chairs together so they could wait as a group. It seemed to irk the passive-aggressive sandwich shop owner to no end. Which was becoming a source of weekly amusement for Charlie and company.

 

Charlie hopped up onto a chair and grabbed a ukulele off the top of one of the bookcases filled with games, hopped down, scurried over to the bar, boosted herself up onto it, and giggled loudly, "Shhhhhh!! He's on his way over! Look natural!"

 

Zach, the econ student-barista-who-was-terrified-of-women-in-general, eeked at Charlie's sudden appearance, "who is on his way over!?"

 

"Hot Pockets! The hot but passive-aggressive sandwich shop guy!" Charlie smirked as she began tuning the instrument.

 

Kevin laughed and grabbed a towel making a big show of wiping down the tables near the counter.

 

"Hot Pockets?" Zach choked out.

 

"That's what Castiel named him. He's hot and he makes sandwiches. Get it?" Charlie strummed a chord and fiddled with another one of the strings.

 

"Not really ..." Zach ducked behind the espresso machine and out of view of the shop patrons just as a very tall, like gigantic, very hot, like a Phoenix July, man walked up to the bar with a sour look on his face. He was carrying a plastic bin which he dumped onto the bar surface from a height just a bit too high to be carefully placing it, and a bit too low to be recklessly dropping it, but the perfect amount of distance to make the mugs rattle together dangerously without actually damaging them. 

 

Charlie strummed a loud chord and chirped brightly, "thanks!" as Kevin moved behind the counter and began rapidly emptying the plastic bin of mugs. She strummed another chord and Kevin danced a few steps that ended with a flourish and a "yeah, thanks!"

 

Hot Pockets pasted a plastic smile across his face and replied cooly, "you're welcome." Then he turned and stiffly walked out of their store and back to his patio to sort the chairs and tables into their original positions. Kevin and Charlie burst into giggles as Cas left his impromptu tutoring session to join them at the counter. 

 

"It's a good thing that guy is so pretty, because he's just way too easy to provoke." Castiel said with a serious expression as he took the instrument from Charlie's hands and strummed the first few bars of "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." Charlie clapped at the right spot in the music.

 

"I don't even like dudes, and I know that guy is hot," Zach piped up from his spot cowering behind the espresso machine.

 

"Are you afraid of hot dudes too?" Castiel asked assuming a tone of innocent inquiry. 

 

"Tall dudes," Zach sniffed. "They're terrifying."

 

Charlie and Castiel laughed again. 

 

Feeling brave, Zach stepped up to Kevin, "what do you guys call me when I'm not around?"

 

"We call you Zach," nodded Kevin as he walked back into the kitchen to grab something to pile all the dirty dishes in.

 

"Really?" asked Zach sounding hopeful.

 

"No," said Charlie. And Castiel gave the boy a sympathetic smile as he caught Charlie around the waist with his hands and lifted her off the bar. 

 

The girls with the English homework swooned again.


	6. Mi Familia, Muchachos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has robbed and vandalized Dean's *favorite* neighborhood taco shop and tequila bar. Jo brings Dean a cup of murder coffee. Not canon compliant because Dean has a cat. Because I love cats, that's why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you want to leave me comments to insert more images of cats. ;)

Dean was dreaming that high school dream where the teacher is calling on you but you're sitting in your desk in your underwear, and anyway, this is the first time you've been in class the entire semester, and so of course there is an exam. It doesn't matter though because Dean can't do anything -- he can't flee or stand up or even move because his feet are stuck. No, they're really trapped right now. In his dream, Dean tells himself he's dreaming and it is time to Wake. The. Fuck. Up. He throws his head to the left and right and drags himself up from the depths of the dream. "Meeeerowww!" drawls the loud, morning greeting from his Siamese cat, Solo. Dean opens one eye, and sure enough, the bed linens are tangled around his feet, and Solo has made herself a nest between his calves with her back propped up against his feet. She looks like she's sitting and waiting patiently for him to realize it's daytime and someone needs to attend to the cat. "Hey," he tells her. She begins to purr, vibrating her sleek fifteen pounds of solid muscle against his feet. Well, at least he isn't sleeping alone.

He'd forgotten to draw the blackout curtains last night before he crawled into bed, and his bedroom was washed in bright summer light despite the fact that it was, he reached over on his night table to grab his phone, yep, a few minutes before 6:00AM. He could sleep another hour. At least. He dragged his feet out from beneath the covers and the cat and planted them on the area rug. Gingerly, because he was still a bit stiff and sore from an ill-advised yoga class he took at his sister-in-law Jess' suggestion, stood up, yawned, stretched and took the two steps from his bed to the windows to pull the curtains. Blessed darkness.  
  


Dean crawled back into bed and rolled onto his side. Solo snuggled into his arms, real men can sleep snuggled with a cat, yes they can, and then they both sighed in contentment and settled into the memory foam mattress to drift off.  
  


***  
  
Dean and Solo growled in unison as Dean's phone announced an incoming call. Without opening his eyes or dislodging his furry friend from her spot snugged between his ribs and his elbow, he grabbed his phone and thumbed the screen to connect the call, "Winchester."

  
"Morning, dreamboat!" Bobby's gruff voice came through the speaker.

 

"Bobby." Dean grumbled in reply. Solo grumbled her complaint as well, and then burrowed her head deeper beneath the sheets.  
  
  
Bobby chuckled at the sound, "Get your ass out of bed Dean, Jo is picking you up in fifteen minutes to take a call over at Salsa Sally's."  
  
  
Dean was instantly awake and sitting up, much to the ire of the sleeping Solo. "What's going on at Sally's?"  
  
  
"Looks like maybe a robbery early this morning before the cooks came on. Someone set a fire in the dining room. Pam is meeting you there."  
  
  


"Pam?" Dean voiced his confusion. Arson was just a bit below her pay grade.  
  
  
"Apparently, she likes the breakfast burritos."  
  
  
Dean understood that much at least, the chorizo, egg and potato burritos were the best hangover cure Dean had ever tried. He rubbed his scalp aggressively with his left hand. "OK, Bobby. Thanks for the call."  
  
  
"No problem, kid. I know Sally and you are friends." 

 

"Yeah. You said fire. Are we thinking hate crime?"  
  
  
"That's your job kid. Go do it." Bobby disconnected the call.  
  
  
Dean had met Sally one night five years ago, shortly after she'd opened in a renovated house on Roosevelt Row. She was third generation Phoenician. A petite Latina with closely cropped hair and a super sexy, in Dean's humble opinion, Marilyn piercing on the right side of her bright smile. Her arms were covered in Aztec motif tattoos. She'd been a cook for the Marines before cashing in after ten years. And her place was decorated with framed photographs from her service days. It was popular with the veterans on the police force, and with the local LGBT+ community because Sally was an activist and every year since she'd opened, she had been one of the sponsors of Phoenix Pride. He'd had a rough day and a messy breakup with a woman he didn't quite realize he was in a relationship with. So when she'd seen him at lunch with the tall, warm-skinned, hostess from the Persian bistro a few blocks from his house, she'd lost it and thrown a plate of roasted eggplant at his face. The hostess didn't like dating a cheater either, and Dean was off Persian food, so tacos it was.  
  
  
He'd sat at the bar and drank Mexican beer with tequila shot chasers. And Sally'd kept his ice water filled and switched the music to classic rock for him. At some point, she went back to the kitchen and made him a plate of stacked enchiladas with a fried egg that wasn't exactly on the menu but she assured him it would "soak up" the beer. They'd talked about books, of all things. They were both readers, and they both liked most genres. The first night they talked about Neal Stephenson, and she never mentioned she was more than the bartender. But he'd been back many, many times since, and he liked to think they were good friends. Damn. He needed a shower. He could stagger down memory lane later.  
  
  
Dean gently rubbed Solo's head and was rewarded with a little grumble. Then he dragged himself to the shower.   
  
  
He was in his bedroom buttoning up his starched white shirt when he heard Jo come in. "Dean!" she called.   
  
  
"Back here," he started assembling his belt and hooking on his gear. Violent Crimes was business casual, by the definition of the American southwest. So, Dean was in dark jeans and a starched white button down. Jo was in navy chinos and a melon-colored matte jersey tee. She wore a navy, brushed cotton blazer with elbow length sleeves over the tee. They both wore steel-toed boots. Jo's hair was in a neat ponytail. She sat on his bed and gave him the rundown of what she knew so far, which was not too much more than Bobby gave him.  
  
  
The gist was, someone broke into Sally's and emptied the freezers and refrigerators out onto the kitchen floors. They piled some of the chairs and tables in a heap in the main dining room and set them on fire. The place was a mess. Without a thorough cleaning, it wouldn't be possible to get a full inventory of what was taken, but off the top of her head, Sally thought she was at least missing her knife roll with her knives that she had left in the kitchen the night before. There were several valuable bottles of tequila unaccounted for at the bar, but perhaps some of them had been used to start the fire. It was hard to say. No estimate yet on the damage or the total value, but all the food was spoilt and the furniture in the main dining room was charcoal. There was smoke and water damage. Arson and the crime scene investigators were on scene. A pair of uniforms were canvassing and doing interviews. Sally had asked for Dean and Jo personally.  
  
  
"Well, shit. Let's go then," Dean sighed. He grabbed his messenger bag, and followed Jo out of his 1940s, 2-bedroom, cottage in the Willo. It was just coming up  on 8AM. They'd need to stop for coffee.  
  
  
Dean slid into the passenger seat of the car and found two cups of fresh coffee in the center console. He quirked an eyebrow at Jo. "New place," she told him. I heard from a friend that one of the owners is a cute redhead.   
  


"Was she there this morning?" Dean asked as he picked up the cup without Jo's lipgloss on it, opened the lid and breathed in the rich roast.  
  
  
"Nah. Perky blonde girl. A little too perky. And a couple of college students with fauxhawks filling orders so fast, I barely had to wait at all."  
  
  
Dean put the lid back on and took a sip, humming approvingly. "Where's it at?"  
  
  
"Over at Taylor Place by Sam's shop."  
  
  
Dean chuckled as he realized he was drinking contraband coffee from the enemy. "You know he doesn't like those guys."  
  
  
"I know," Jo shot back. "I think that's part of makes this coffee so delicious."

  
***

 

Dean and Jo pulled into the Roosevelt and found a place to park down the street. They got out in the relatively cool late-September morning hovering around 78 degrees and walked down toward the small crowd hanging out in front of Sally's. Terri Pinker, one of the crime scene gals, met him on the sidewalk and told him they were finishing up. Arson had already left. They were free to take a look around inside. She gestured to the tight huddle of kitchen staff in terse conversation with Sally, "They want to get in soon too, and I told them it was fine after you finished up. "Thanks, Terri."  
  
  
Dean and Jo walked over to Sally's group, and she turned around and threw her arms around Dean. "Goddamit," she snarled into his chest. He gripped her tightly and looked over the angry faces of her crew. No one here was perky, that was for damned sure. Sally pushed back with two hands on Dean's chest, pivoted and threw her arms around Jo. Dean exchanged one-arm, bro hugs with each of the men wearing their Salsa Sally's tee shirts. To his right, he could hear Jo muttering dark promises to Sally who answered with bitter laughter. Yeah. This was family.  
  
  
"Jo, how about your bring Sally in with us. The rest of you," Dean gestured to the men, "stay here. Oh, um. Except Manny. You come with us too. Don't touch anything yet, but you can start taking a look around the kitchen so you can get an idea of what cleanup is going to take. Sally's gonna talk us through the bar and the dining room."

  
  
Everyone nodded at each other. Anything was better than standing around on the red brick patio out front. Dean noticed the guys left behind got out their mobile phones and started making calls. Probably lining up help and canceling shifts for the day. Sally's people were good people.  
  
  
With an arm around her waist, Jo walked Sally in through the front door into the dining room. Dean walked behind them. It was worse than he'd thought.  
  
  
The wood tables and chairs Sally'd had brought up from Chihuahua were destroyed by either being broken, burnt or both. The liquor bottles on the bar were all shattered, maybe with a table leg, or maybe with a baseball bat if they'd brought it with them. Sally's photographs were all knocked off the walls with the glass broken and frames bent. There was water in puddles and dripping still. The roof seemed ok, thanks to the fast fire response. But the cleanup was going to suck. Sally crossed her arms over her chest and looked numb, while Jo swallowed hard. Dean was pissed.   
  
  
Manny came back through the kitchen doors, eyes rimmed in red, the anger radiating off of him in palpable waves. "Broken dishes and spoilt food, but no visible damage to the appliances. We can buy all that stuff easy enough. It's gonna be OK, Sal."  
  
  
"Then why do you look like you're going to snap someone's neck?" Sally asked him flatly.  
  
  


They stared each other down in the middle of the acrid room. Jo cleared her throat. "There are some gay slurs sprayed on the walls of the kitchen, hon. Some racist ones too."  
  
  
Sally pivoted and walked right out of the front door of her restaurant. Manny nodded at Jo and Dean and then followed behind her.  
  
  
"OK, Dean. Where do you want to start?"  
  
  
Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair again thinking about soft cotton sheets and a warm purry bed buddy. That stupid school dream sucked, but reality was just so much worse.    
  
  
  



	7. Night Detecting, or How Dean Nearly Suffers a Head Injury While Not Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a look at Castiel. Cas gets a look at Dean. Nicknames are assigned. Sam is still irate. (This chapter is a bit long. I had to fill in some more stuff in order to get our boys together in the same space.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @staunchlyblue needed the Destiel to kick in. So, yep. I'm shoehorning this chapter into the structure. I'm improvising. What could possibly go wrong?

Jo and Dean sat in their car and made some calls. Jo called through to the Night Detectives desk and got herself set up an afternoon meeting with Detective Yolanda Medina, the woman who tracked the anti-LGBTQ crimes for the downtown precinct. (Yoli was currently with the Night Detectives, kind of a misnomer since they worked late afternoons and overnights, but Night Detectives was what their bureau had been called since probably the territorial days when beat cops were paid by the month with room and board and $100 bucks.) Yoli was a good cop with a lot of contacts across the community, and Jo hoped if Sally's was targeted because she was gay, Yoli would have heard something about it.

 

Dean called Bobby and filled him in on what they had so far. Lt Robert "Bobby" Singer had been Dean's mentor coming up through the force after college, and waaay back in the day, Bobby had ridden with Dean's dad. John Winchester was long buried, but Dean still had Bobby to kick his ass.

"Singer."

"Hey, jefe."

"What's it look like?"

"Not sure. There's a lot of damage inside that looks personal. Haven't decided if it's a hate crime yet. The personal nature of the vandalism pops harder than the slurred graffiti for me."

"How so?"

"All her service pictures look like someone smashed them off the wall with a baseball bat."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"You thinking this is a domestic? Because god smite me if I go too politically correct on your ass, but I don't want us jumping to a lover's spat with a lesbian victim. She deserves better than SVU episode of the week treatment."

"Nah, I don't think so. I've met her wife, Katie. They're so happy, they make me teeth hurt. And they're childhood sweethearts, so no exes hiding in the shadows. Nah, I was thinking maybe someone from one of her old units or something."

"Son, I don't know if I like the violent veteran movie of the week perp any better."

"I hear you, sir. Imma go beat some bushes."

"Beat 'em hard," and Bobby disconnected the call. Dean sighed. This sucked.

 

Jo sighed too. The uniforms from the scene had finished and uploaded their write ups. Crime scene evidence was dropped off at the lab for processing. She couldn't do any more from the driver's seat. It was time to hit the computers.

 

***

Cas was acclimated to the dry desert heat, and he could run in it up until temperatures rose above 106. Some runners, obviously, were impervious to the temperatures, especially the Ultrarunners of whom the Phoenix area seemed to have more than its share. But Cas' upper limit was 106. Which meant that during the hot summer months, he ran late at night when the temperatures settled around 100 degrees. October through April, Cas ran mid-morning to early-afternoon depending on when he woke up. He wasn't quite the night owl that Charlie was, but yeah, he needed three cups of coffee before he could deal with any other humans before 9AM or it was grounds for murder. Which was also not the reason for the name of their coffee shop. So, basically, six months out of the year, Cas ran at midnight, went to bed around 3AM, and then got out of bed just in time for lunch. During the cooler months, Cas dragged himself out of bed at a bright and not-very-early 10AM for a mid-day run.

 

Cas was always lean, his body seemed to settle that way even with his love of food and wine. But, the summer heat was hard on most any body, and Cas' seven to ten mile runs six days a week tended to chew up what little body fat remained. Here, at the end of the summer, this fact was made abundantly clear to Cas as he pulled on his favorite, soft and faded jeans - rips and tears come by honestly, thank you very much, from years of wear and love. The jeans this morning fit alright, but when he slipped his wallet, keys and phone into his pockets, the jeans hung precariously off his hipbones. Which was potentially dangerous. He could, maybe, accidentally flash his coffee shop patrons, but the risk wasn't enough to cause him to go back and change. Or, even, you know, go through the effort of wearing one of the worn leather belts hanging in the closet.

 

He pulled a faded navy UC Davis tee over his head and hooked the leather and bead bracelets around his left wrist. One of the leather bracelets had a metal plate engraved with the longitude and latitude of the house on Orchard Circle that he and Charlie had shared when they were grad students at UC Davis. Charlie had given it to him because, as far as he was concerned, she and that house were the first real home he'd ever know. The tumbled, natural turquoise bead bracelet was because he loved Arizona. He loved her snowy northern country, her desert landscapes, her canyons and hiking trails, and her almost constant sunshine. He'd followed Charlie here when she took the ASU job, and he hadn't regretted it.

 

The third bracelet was narrow, wrapped twice around his wrist, and buckled closed like a miniature of the belt he wasn't wearing around his waist. It was made by Frye, and he usually didn't do commercial, but this one worked. There was already a friendship bracelet on his right wrist that was tied there that he never took it off. It was done in embroidery silk in the shades of the rainbow. Charlie had bought one for each of them at a street festival in New Orleans, and she insisted they both wear them because they were "queer buddies." It made him smile every time he looked at it and remembered the day they were both drunk off their asses on takeaway daiquiris, wandering a street festival, and feeling for the first time ever that they maybe weren't the weirdest people on the sidewalk. Good day.

 

Cas sprayed on a small amount of [Jeke](http://www.slumberhouse.com/the-perfumes/) by Slumberhouse at his throat where it met the collar of his tee. SMALL... he'd only made that mistake once. He opened the jar of Obsessive Compulsive Loose Colour Concentrate in "[Artifact](https://occmakeup.com/collections/eyes-1/products/loose-colour-concentrates-1)," a dark, rich copper that he knew set off his blue eyes. He tapped his fourth finger into a tiny amount of the powder stuck to the inside of the jar's lid - TINY... he'd only made that mistake once - and patted it onto the center of his eye against his lashline. He blended it out toward the corners and repeated the step with his other eye. He checked himself in the mirror and approved of the subtle effect. Then he picked up a tube of peppermint sage lip salve, dotted some on his persistently chapped lips, and slipped the tube in his pocket. He dragged his fingers through his hair one more time trying to set it to some kind of order. But it _was_ sort of hopeless. Some of the hairs caught on his chipped black nail polish, which he'd have to fix at some point, but right now it was at just the right amount of punk rock unkempt. 

 

With a last look at his phone to make sure Charlie's app hadn't sent him any messages about needing to pick up more cash or dishwasher soap or something, Cas slipped his feet into his Tom's and headed out. The loft door locked automatically behind him and he hit the button to call the elevator. He'd be at the cafe in time to relieve Kevin for lunch.   
  
  
***

After reading through the reports and doing some searching through the old case files for similar crimes, Jo and Dean decided to split up. Jo had some errands to run before she met with Yoli, and Dean wanted to have lunch at Sam's sandwich shop and then spend some time catching up on his email. Dean wrapped things up at his desk, shoved his dept issued laptop in his bag, and headed for the stairs. Sam had a meatball sub with his name on it.

  
When he walked into Sam's at 1PM, there was still a line out the door, and the inside tables were packed. Gourmet Sammiches did a good job with the standard ham and cheese, turkey, tuna salad, and roast beef. But Sam had some creative choices on the menu too. Everything was fresh-fresh. And Sam's people were fast. Dean waited at the back until Sam looked up from his customer. Sam waved at him and turned his face back to the order window to tell the kitchen to start Dean's meatball sub. Dean walked over to the soda fountain, grabbed one of the large cups, filled it to the top with ice, and then added the black, peach tea from the tea dispenser next to the soda. He watched in fascination (it was interesting every time) as the hot tea melted the cold ice until the temperature in the glass tipped the balance to icy cold. Then he went back outside and grabbed the one open table. The sun had shifted a bit, so he adjusted the umbrella to block it, and then settled into a chair at an angle that let him see a fair portion of the inside of Grounds for Murder.

 

He was still watching, through his mirrored sunglasses, the people in the coffee shop, ten minutes later when Sam personally brought out his sandwich. Granted, the position of his chair didn't afford him a view of the counter, but he could see a good half of the shop through its floor to ceiling windows, and so far all he'd seen were a heap of attractive male and female college students doing homework. Dean was an equal opportunity dater, but the college set was too young. No, really. Undergrads are embarrassing, don't sleep with them. This was the thing he'd told Jo when she accidentally took one of them home one night from a sports bar. When she said he'd looked older, Dean mocked her incessantly about her poor detecting skills until she promised to card all her dates in the future. So, yeah, attractive but mostly just drinking coffee and studying. Except for the group of five seated around some kind of board game, but that hardly counted as weird in a coffee shop.   
  
"Did you hear about Sally's?" Sam said without preamble.  
  
"Yeah, it's mine and Jo's case."  
  
"Shit," Sam bit out. "She OK?"  
  
"I don't think so. The place was trashed and the assholes painted racist and homophobic shit on her kitchen walls."  
  
"I'd heard that.  Do you think this because she's gay or Latina?"  
  
"I don't know yet.  Jo is looking into that this afternoon."

"What are you doing?"  
  
"Me? I'm gonna catch up on my email."  
  
Dean tore open the bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and offered the open bag to Sam who took a few.   


"Guess what those coffee shop idiots did now?" Sam said with a sour look on his face that probably wasn't from the vinegar chips. Maybe. Probably not.  
  
"Uh oh. Did they use your napkins?"  
  
"Cut it out, Dean! No, they had karaoke yesterday afternoon. All 90s songs. It was all morose and terrible."  
  
"So, like, what, too much Spice Girls?" Dean took a huge bite of his sandwich to hide his smirk.  
  
"No, well, yes, there were Spice Girls - goth guy and redhaired elf girl did "Wannabe." There were dance moves. It was a mess. But, no, I mean they pushed all their tables and chairs to the sides, circled them, and made a stage in the middle of their shop. Then they opened the doors and cranked the speakers. Kids came down from the dorms above and it was a total zoo." Sam harrumphed and his bangs fluttered.  
  
Goth guy dancing? Dean's medulla sprinkled a little dopamine into his brain, as he determined the dancing goth guy merited a bit of investigation. He covered the slight blush rising in his cheeks by ribbing Sam, "Dude, really? I have so many questions."  
  
"What? No. It was seriously disruptive, Dean."  
  
"And you know this, how? Were you over there waiting your turn to do Pearl Jam?"  
  
"What? No! Kids were dancing in the street, Dean. I went over there to tell them to get back on the sidewalk and that's when I saw the weirdos singing and dancing."  
  
"Well, you're right. That is villainy."  
  
"Dude, I'm serious. And they're still leaving their mugs all over my tables."  
  
Dean laughed again, Sam's face was red and Dean didn't want to push him far enough to lose his free sandwich privileges. They were really good sammiches. "OK. OK. You're right. I'll talk to them as soon as I finish up my tea. They really shouldn't let their business spill over into the street."  
  
"Thanks, Dean. I'm going to get back to work. Do you want a chicken salad for Jo?"  
  
"Nah. She's doing her own thing."  
  
Sam bussed the remains of lunch off Dean's table and headed back into the restaurant, his long broad back relaxed and slouched forward a bit. Good. He really didn't want to see Sam too aggravated.  
  
While he'd been eating and watching, he'd noticed the wifi sticker on the window to the coffee shop. Coffee sounded good, and he knew theirs was good. And he did need to catch up on his email. Plus, investigating the dancing goth guy. I mean, while he was at it, right? Totes legit research.  
  
***  


Cas and Kevin were hanging out behind the counter, stacking mugs and wrapping silverware while talking about the SyFy network's [Killjoys](http://www.syfy.com/killjoys) when the green-eyed guy walked in. They both blinked and Cas stopped talking in the middle of his sentence about bondage and masculinity on the show. Green-eyes walked straight up to the counter, and Kevin prodded Cas a little more loudly than was strictly necessary, "you were saying, Castiel? The use of bondage to subvert conventional masculinity?"  
  
Cas turned to Kevin with an amused expression and Kevin shot him a mischievous giggle in return.  
  
"Um, what?" the green-eyed man asked.  
  
"Oh, bondage and masculinity." Kevin repeated.  
  
"OK. I know what those are," said the green-eyed man, slowly. He really was stunning, Cas thought. Tall, maybe an inch taller than Castiel, maybe two. With closely cropped, dishwater blonde hair and ginger highlights. Gingery two-day stubble. Eyes as green as old glass. Sharply cut jaw and plush, soft-looking lips. The light dusting of freckles took him in an almost-pretty, we'll call it pretty-adjacent, direction. But the long, full, curled lashes tipped him right over the edge. He was a very pretty man, Cas thought. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin could see Cas was still staring. Carry on, my wayward son, Kevin smirked to himself, and dove right in, "Castiel here was explaining to me how this scifi show we watch is always handcuffing or tying up the male characters as a way to foreground female pleasure and subvert tired notions of dominant masculinity."  


"Killjoys?" the green-eyed man asked.  
  
"Yep! You got it in one. So are you into the masculinity or the bondage?" Somewhere inside his besotted thoughts, Castiel knew Kevin was a runaway train at this point, but it was amusing to watch him tease the other man, and he really was fascinated at the way the green eyes in front of him kept blinking, widening, and glancing between Cas and Kevin as this conversation ran off the tracks." 

"Um, ... yes?" the man's forehead crinkled in confusion and Cas thought it was adorable. Someone should throw him a lifeline, but not yet.  
  
"I'm into the women. I think Dutch is seriously badass. But seriously, that whole cast is gorgeous. We call that show 'Sexy Spacers' around here."

"Um, yeah, I guess they are all really gorgeous, um, look, er... can I...?" The green-eyed man seemed to be shifting from foot to foot now, trying to find his footing maybe? Metaphorically speaking? Yeah, totally adorable. Castiel had moved from pretty face to the muscular shoulders, smooth torso, and long legs. The record in Cas' brain was skipping on "gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous." The white oxford shirt tucked into jeans was a good look, but the service weapon on his hip caused the needle to slide across the record in an abrupt scratch. There was a plain clothes cop in. his. murder. cafe. There was a pun in there somewhere but the blood was kind of rushing away from his brain. 

Kevin decided to take pity on the cop, "Oh, sure man, what can I get you?"  
  
"Just a drip coffee, black. Darkest roast you've got running." The green-eyed man sounded relieved to be back on solid ground.  
  
  
"Sure, man. Take a seat, and I'll bring it out to you."  


The green-eyed man turned toward the tables, but then turned back to the counter as if he had a sudden thought. "Are you the manager?"

  
"Ah, sure. One of them," Kevin replied not elaborating because he wanted to see what Cas was going to do.

The green-eyed cop looked from Kevin to Castiel and back to Kevin, and his face shifted into a mask of cool competence and professionalism. "Look, I don't want to be a hardass, but you've got your own sidewalk space out in front of your place. Put some tables and chairs out there for your customers already. And put up a sign that says your customers need to keep their mugs inside your shop until you get those tables. The owner next door is a decent guy, but you're starting to irk him. Irking is not neighborly." 

Cas had to admit that whole competent cop thing was a good look. So hot.

"Yes, sir. We'll tell them." Kevin responded with a winning smile and a bob of his head. "I'll have your coffee right up."  
  
And the hot cop turned around and headed toward one of the two-top tables against the far wall.

Kevin grabbed a mug and started filling it with coffee, but behind the counter where no one could see, he was frantically kicking Cas with his right foot. Cas was kicking him back. Cas whispered, "My cafe has a Hot Cop!"  
  
Kevin whispered back, "Maybe he'd be into roleplay? He could save you from evil coffee shop bandits."  
  
"With his sensitive and thoughtful modern masculinity," Cas added mirth bubbling up into his voice.  
  
"And his bondage-y handcuffs!" Kevin shot back. "Because he said he was into it."  
  
After keeping it together during the entire exchange, Cas erupted into laughter. Then he got in one final kick before Kevin picked up the mug and took it out to the cop.

  
***

Dean played it cool, walking slowly back to a table against the far wall. Be cool, man. Be cool. 

Blue eyes. Wow, blue. So blue.

Be cool.  
  
He medulla had other ideas and sent dopamine soaking through his body lighting up goosebumps along his arms and legs and raising a dark heat on his cheeks.

Blue Eyes.

Seriously, man, BE. COOL.  
  
He got himself into his seat, relieved for the stability. Set his bag on the floor to pull out his computer and files. And promptly banged his head hard on the wall.  
  
Dean saw stars. Blue, blue, blue, blue stars. And possibly blue hearts. There could have been blue spaceships. 

Laughter erupted behind him.  

So much for cool.

 

 

 


	8. That's Going to Leave a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Cas for the first time from Dean's point of view. Cas makes the first move. What will Dean do? (WWDD?)

"Ow." That was going to leave a mark.

 

Gods he was an idiot.

 

He'd sat there on the patio watching for almost 30 minutes and not seen the gorgeous guy with the blue eyes the entire time. So he'd sauntered in here all cocksure and squared away. Prepared to drink his coffee and own these coffee shop geeks. But then something went awry. The first person he'd seen behind the counter was the Asian 20-something man with the black jeans, white shirt with rolled up sleeves, charcoal waistcoat, and silver tie, loose at the neck with the top button of the shirt unbuttoned. He wore nerd chic librarian glasses, and Dean thought he was pretty cute. He must be the "dandy" Sam was going on about.

 

But then, Dean turned his gaze to the other man behind the counter and his brain stalled. Those preternaturally blue-blue eyes were animated and sparkling.The smudge of dark copper at his lashline was a flattering study in contrast. The liquid blue eyes were set in a tanned face with a square jaw, high, sharp cheekbones, a long straight nose, and slightly chapped, full lips. Dean guessed Blue Eyes was a runner because Sam was a trail runner, and Sam was in a constant battle against chapping from the dry, desert climate. Blue Eyes had square shoulders, a tall, lithe frame that was maybe an inch or two shorter than Dean, and holy fuck those hands. Dean's eyes hung on the elegant fingers that were wrapping silverware in paper napkins and then placing the bundles into a small straw basket. Chipped black nail enamel didn't do anything to detract from their graceful motion. 

 

The two men behind the counter were talking and laughing. They seemed relaxed and familiar with each other, and ok, so they were attractive, but Dean was too. He talked to attractive people all the time. Hell, speaking of attractive, his own younger brother had modeled his way through college. Telling these good-looking guys to stand down with the shenanigans was going to be a piece of cake. Dean  drew in a breath, straightened his spine, schooled his expression into one of cool authority and stepped up to the counter just as Blue Eyes said something about bondage. ... Hang on, what?  
  
As if the shorter man had read his mind, he spoke up a bit louder, "you were saying, Castiel? The use of bondage to subvert conventional masculinity?"  
  
Yep. They were talking about bondage. In public. While they wrapped silverware and stacked mugs. Dean's brain stalled again. He drew a breath in slowly through his nose and told himself to get it together. Kevin. His name tag said Kevin. So Blue Eyes was Castiel. Was that a Spanish name he hadn't come across yet? Get. Your. Shit. Together. Dean. He tried again, "um, what?"  
  
"Oh, bondage and masculinity" the kid named Kevin repeated.   
  
"OK. I know what those are," Dean replied, slowly. It was basically all he could come up with in the moment. He glanced at the one named Castiel. Those Blue Eyes were crinkling at the corners. Was he laughing at Dean? Their eyes locked briefly and those blue eyes twinkled and yep, he was laughing at Dean. Perfect. The kid, Kevin, was talking again.

"Castiel here was explaining to me how this scifi show we watch is always handcuffing or tying up the male characters as a way to foreground female pleasure and subvert tired notions of dominant masculinity."

What? Dean's brain conveniently provided several images of Cas tied to his headboard while still being as sexy and manly AF. Awesome. Dean hit the mental save button on that for later. And then he thought, wait, this is familiar. "Killjoys?" he asked Kevin.  
  
"Yep! You got it in one. So are you into the masculinity or the bondage?" Kevin shot back raising one eyebrow as if this were a serious line of inquiry. What?  
  
Again, Dean's brain was there for him, providing an image of a shirtless, barefoot, jeans-wearing Cas who was hanging by his wrists from some conveniently placed manacles above his head still being as sexy and manly as fuck. Awesome. Press save. Save, goddammit. "Um, ... yes?" Dean heard himself say. What the fuck was happening to him.

  
Like the intrepid Lois Lane, Kevin trundled on with the interrogation: "I'm into the women. I think Dutch is seriously badass. But seriously, that whole cast is gorgeous. We call that show 'Sexy Spacers' around here." He quirked his eyebrow again, an obvious gesture to the point in the conversation he'd left open for Dean to fill.

Dean could tell Blue Eyes was looking him over. He still had that sexy, half smile on his face with those crinkles around his eyes. Dean wondered what he was thinking. But, it was time to get this situation back in hand. "Um, yeah, I guess they are all really gorgeous, um, look, er... can I...?" His voice trailed off when Blue Eyes licked his lips, and suddenly Dean couldn't remember the name of the black beverage thingy or how to ask for it. He shifted his weight from left to right trying to ground himself in reality.

Kevin gave him a warm smile touched with pity and threw him a lifeline, for which Dean was not the least bit grateful, nope. "Oh, sure man, what can I get you?" Kevin asked.  
  
"Just a drip coffee, black. Darkest roast you've got running." Dean replied, feeling suddenly back on solid ground.  
  
"Sure. Take a seat, and I'll bring it out to you."

Dean turned to find a table, then remembered what he'd come in here for in the first place and turned back to the counter asking Kevin, "are you the manager?"

  
"Ah, sure. One of them," Kevin replied. Interesting, Dean thought. A little bit passive. Dean wondered why and made a mental note of it. Then charged on.

"Look, I don't want to be a hardass, but you've got your own sidewalk space out in front of your place. Put some tables and chairs out there for your customers already. And put up a sign that says your customers need to keep their mugs inside your shop until you get those tables. The owner next door is a decent guy, but you're starting to irk him. Irking is not neighborly." 

"Yes, sir. We'll tell them." Kevin responded with a winning smile and a bob of his head. "I'll have your coffee right up."

Dean played it cool, walking slowly back to a table against the far wall. Be cool, man. Be cool. 

Blue eyes. Wow, blue. So blue.

Be cool.  
  
He medulla had other ideas and sent dopamine soaking through his body lighting up goosebumps along his arms and legs and raising a dark heat on his cheeks.

Blue Eyes.

Seriously, man, BE. COOL.  
  
He got himself into his seat, relieved for the stability. Set his bag on the floor to pull out his computer and files. And promptly banged his head hard on the wall.  
  
Dean saw stars. Blue, blue, blue, blue stars. And possibly blue hearts. There could have been blue spaceships. 

Laughter erupted behind him.  

So much for cool.

Dean turned to look at the men behind the counter, but the Kevin kid was on his way over with the coffee, and Blue Eyes was ducking back into the kitchen. Kevin must have seen the embarrassment on Dean's face because when he placed the mug of coffee on the table in front of Dean, he said, "Officer, we weren't laughing at you," and then asked, "are you OK? Is your head OK? I can't tell you how many times I've done that while bussing tables. I swear I gave myself a concussion once when I was shifting games around in the bookcase."  
  
"I'm fine, but thanks. Smarts, doesn't it?"  
  
"Hurt like hell," Kevin replied and gestured to the cream and sugar on his tray, to which Dean shook his head.   
  
"So," Dean edged forward in his chair, "if you weren't laughing at me ...?"  
  
"Hahaha, nope. If you want to hear about Cas' kinks, you're going to have to ask him yourself."  
  
"Who says I want to know about Cas' kinks?" Dean quickly searched his memory and could think of no other conversation in his life that had unfolded like those he was having in this cafe. Sam was right. These people were weirdos. Dean just hadn't decided yet whether that was a bad thing or an awesome thing. 

"Of course you want to hear about his kinks. Cas is hot. And you didn't do the 'but I'm not gay' thing when I hit you with that masculinity double entendre. Most straight dudes are worried enough about being perceived as straight that they rush to straighten out any potential misunderstandings straight away. If you get my drift."  
  
"Damn straight, I do." Dean quipped and both men laughed. Dean decided Kevin wasn't the only one who could play Lois Lane, "So is Cas gay?"  
  
"Nah," Kevin fidgeted with the cream and sugar on his tray. "Cas is pansexual. Like, really pansexual. Like, his taste is so varied, I can't seem to nail it down at all."  
  
"Huh," Dean mused allowed. Because that's all his brain was doing at the moment -- saying 'huh.'   
  
"You, though," Kevin went on. "You, I'm guessing you're bi, with a moderate preference for women."  
  
Dean looked up in surprise. "That's true. How'd you do that?"  
  
"Cas has a PhD in complicated gender shit, and he's taught me a lot of fascinating stuff about people, identity, sex, desire, culture, the whole thing. It's pretty cool. We spend a lot of time here watching people and talking about them. And I was watching you walk in. There are a dozen girls in here at five different tables, and your eyes scanned all of them before you started eyeballing my boss."  
  
"Accurate," Dean agreed, "but maybe I was doing it for my job. Like I'm a suspicious detective and I was detecting and shit."  
  
"Nah. You were appreciating, not assessing."  
  
"Also accurate. Wait. Go back. Cas is a professor?" Dean's eyebrows went up at that. What was a professor doing behind the counter in a coffee shop?  
  
"Nah, he's the owner here. Well, one of them. The other one, Charlie, is a professor. But she's got a seminar until 4 today."  
  
Dean was mulling over where to file that information, when Blue Eyes himself walked up and sat down at the chair opposite Dean.

 

"I'm Castiel, but you can call me Cas," Sparking, Crinkly Corners, Blue Eyes told him with a bright smile. "Welcome to Grounds for Murder. The wifi password is Miss Scarlet, all lowercase."  
  
"I'm Dean, and that's cute. So you named your cafe after Clue the board game?"  
  
"Nope," Cas laughed. 

Dean took in the long-limbed man, slouched across the table from him. He could look openly now since they were facing each other and talking. Cas was really sexy. Like, really, really sexy. He was lean and lithe and limber (hehe alliteration). His voice was a warm, smoky baritone, located somewhere along the continuum between a growl and a purr. He moved with near predatory grace, but also with a kind of gravity about him. He sprawled in that chair like he owned the place, and Dean knew Cas did probably own the place, but in his experience, that kind of self presence wasn't easy to pull off. Most people were either a bit self conscious or they over compensated with a bit too much arrogance. Cas was neither. He was just open. Present. Sitting before Dean comfortable in his own skin.  
  
Cas raised his arms above his head, folded them at the elbows, and locked his fingers behind his neck, stretching his long torso like a cat (why did Dean's brain keep going to cats? another mental note.) putting himself on full display. Dean stared as the t-shirt pulled up just barely brushing the waistband of Cas' jeans. He was a bit disappointed there was no flash of skin, but Cas' stretched biceps and finely muscled forearms were not exactly a consolation prize. Cas' eyes sharpened at Dean's overt gaze. Cas rolled his head left to right stretching his slender neck, and Dean's eyes narrowed to Cas' pulsepoint in his throat.

"I like you too," Cas spoke. 

"What?" Dean asked as he forced his eyes off Cas' neck and up to his face.  
  
"I'm just putting that out there. That I think you're attractive too."  
  
Yep. Definitely never had a conversation quite like this one. "Ah. Well. Good." Dean decided he'd really, at this point, like to dismount, salute the judges, and just get the fuck out of this conversation.

"So," Cas said, his voice dropping lower and softer, "you want to go get a drink or something?"  
  
"What, now?"

Cas smiled. "Yes. Now."

Something dark and serpentine slithered low in Dean's stomach at the note of command that flowed from Cas' lips in the word 'now."

Yep. Time to go. Dean started packing up his laptop and files, "I'm on duty for awhile yet today."  
  
"Some other time, then?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. Another time, Cas" and Dean stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Cas stayed exactly where he was, stretched out in his chair, body on display, gaze sensual and redolent of things that go bump in the night.  
  
"See you around, Dean."  
  
"Yeah, see you." And Dean was walking out the door thinking of a long shower with his mental save file. Be cool.  
  
Cas chuckled to himself. Hot Cop was going to be fun.


	9. And Now For a Little Bonding TIme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Charlie hang out and talk a little about Hot Cop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little scene I wrote in the wee hours this morning because I can't sleep. I can, however, feed ice cream to my feelings. So, I did. While writing this.

Cas pulled on blue running shorts and a matching tee, both constructed of that space age fabric that wicks sweat, reduces friction, and microwaves popcorn. OK, that last one was mostly a joke, but Cas would take whatever weapons he could get in the war against chaffing. He laced up his shoes, tucked his phone into his pocket, set his earbuds in his ears, and headed out the door. He caught the elevator down to the ground floor and his feet his the pavement at exactly 11PM. 

The city of Phoenix, Arizona was home to more than 1.5 million people, making it the sixth largest city in the United States. But, Cas didn't care about all of that. Cas' life was in downtown Phoenix - a few square miles of revitalizing urban center containing sports arenas, a convention center, courts, arts venues, museums, foodies, and historic homes. The ASU School of Biomedical Informatics, where Charlie taught, was also downtown, as was her historic bungalow in the Coronado District. They had friends here. They had employees here. They had jobs here. They'd made a life here. And neither one of them ventured too far from their home turf, although Charlie occasionally took the light rail southeast to the ASU main campus in Tempe. Sometimes he joined her - there were good restaurants and bars around the Tempe campus - but otherwise, downtown Phoenix was Cas' place with Cas' people.

Tonight he was going to run a roughly 3.5 mile circuitous route that would end at Charlie's Coronado district bungalow. They'd hang out on her patio and drink wine for a few hours, and then he'd run the reverse route back to his place. It had been a couple of weeks since they'd had "them time," since Charlie's semester was in full swing, and Cas had been working a lot of shifts helping train the new coffee shop employees. 

At 11:30, Cas reached over Charlie's gate, flicked the latch, and let himself into her lush oasis of a backyard. She had an outdoor fireplace and built in grill, a veritable grove of mesquite and pomegranate trees, a back wall that was covered in climbing, night-blooming jasmine, as well as lemon, pink grapefruit, and tangerine trees. She was lying in a chaise lounge with her tablet in her lap and a bottle of dry riesling in and ice bucket on a low table by her left hand. She was running the patio misters, and the cool, moist air was scented with spicy mesquite and sharp citrus. 

Cas dropped into the lounge opposite Charlie, and she poured him a glass of wine.

"Did you hear about Salsa Sally's?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, some of the students were talking about it. They said it was a hate crime."

"Well, that's what the lesbian backchannel is saying too." Charlie gestured to the Slack app she had open on her screen. Ah, Cas nodded. Charlie had other friends. Lots of them. And she communicated with them regularly. Friends and communication were things still on Cas' To Do list, below more important matters like, watch mold grow in the shower. 

"Are you worried?" Cas asked carefully while watching the shadows on her face thrown by the fairy lights strung in the trees.

"Nah. No more than I'm ever worried at least." 

Cas nodded again. "OK, well, you'll tell me if anything changes."

He reached over and squeezed her knee.

"I will! And speaking of changes, Kevin tells me you have a new admirer? He texted me something about a Hot Cop?" Charlie's smile was bright now, and her voice jumped up half an octave, the sadness of moments ago left behind, probably where it belonged.

"Why yes, yes I do. Today I met Hot Cop."

"And was he ... Hot?" Charlie asked wagging her eyebrows.

"Oh, so hot. Taller than I am. Built. Green eyes. Freckles. Totally hot." Castiel touched his forehead with the back of his right hand in an exaggerated swoon. 

"Eeeeeee! Tell me more! MOAR!"

"His name is Dean. And when Kevin was teasing him about Killjoys, bondage, and the gays, he hung in there like a champ. We barely rattled him."

"Really?!" She leaned forward in her chair and pulled a sip of wine from her class. 

"Well, for the most part. He did knock his head pretty hard into one of the walls trying to get away from us. But otherwise, totally chill-ish."

"He hit his head!? Cas!! Did you swoop in and rescue him?"

"In a sense. If by rescue you mean shamelessly flaunting my body and asking him if he wanted to get out of there, then yes. Consider him well and truly rescued."

"Wait. You took Hot Cop home with you!?" Charlie's voice had hit that pitch of excitement that was probably going to call all the neighborhood dogs or make all the night moths fly into walls or become infertile or something.

"Sadly, no." Castiel deadpanned. "He said he was still on duty."

"Cas! AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED!?!"

Cas took a couple of sips of his wine and stared thoughtfully at the little birdbath fountain. Making her wait for it. She was vibrating in anticipation. Finally, he cut her a break. "He got flustered, packed his things up, and left. Without running into anything this time."

"Did you at least get his number!?" Charlie gaped. 

"Nope. I didn't give him mine either." Cas swallowed in one long pull the rest of the wine in his class and poured himself another.

"So, how are you going to see him again?" She refilled her glass as well and then shook the empty bottle at him. 

He got up to walk into the house to get another. "Oh, after the 30 or so seconds he spent staring at my dick, yeah, he will be back."

Charlie burst into giggles and flailed happily against her lounge chair cushions while Cas headed into the house to get another bottle. He was happy too. They didn't do this often enough. He pulled another bottle of the same dry riesling out of her enormous wine refrigerator, and then opened the food refrigerator pulling out a plate of cheeses and crackers she'd obviously put together earlier for them to snack on. Yes, they needed to do this more. But, what they really needed to do was get started planning their Halloween party. 

And then he headed back outside to the dearest person in his world


	10. What Happens In Drum Circle, Stays In Drum Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in downtown Phoenix is out on the streets for the First Fridays art night. Carly's, a local bar/bistro, is holding a fund raiser to help Salsa Sally's with the cleanup costs of the recent vandalism. Jo has been eyerolling her way into Grounds for Murder every morning because Dean wants the "good coffee," but he has to avoid the hot barista. Cas makes himself unavoidable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice I'm not including the slurs and slogans themselves. If I thought it was necessary to the story, I would, but since it doesn't matter yet, I see no point in aggravating myself. Later there will probably have to be some conversations where these phrases get tossed around. I'll flag those so you know when they're coming.

DetDean 10/4/17 7:15AM

"I know I said I'd go with you today, but I overslept. Can you pretty please bring the good coffee?"

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:17AM

"NO."

 

DetDean 10/4/17 7:18AM

"Plzzzzzzzzz!!

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:19AM

"Are you lying in bed with Solo texting me?"

 

DetDean 10/4/17 7:20AM

Nooooooooo.

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:21AM

Deannnnnnn.

 

DetDean 10/4/17 7:21AM

We're working on the reports!

 

DetDean 10/4/17 7:21AM

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:22AM

"Fine, I will get your coffee. But I keep telling you, there's no 'tall, dark, and hot barista' in there in the mornings."

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:22AM

"It's just the creepy-perky blonde and her fauxhawk minions"

 

DetDean 10/4/17 7:24AM

"You're the best!"

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 7:25AM

"Yes I am. But we're still talking about this later."

 

 

Dean had no doubt he'd be talking about this later with Jo, but after almost a week of trying to do his job while Sexy Barista stretched, flaunted, and got right to the point in his imagination, Dean was not ready to see him again. Well, parts of Dean were ready, but the thinking parts, notsomuch. But that was good coffee, so he kept asking Jo to bring it to him. She swore Castiel wasn't working at 7:45AM when she picked up their coffee. But, he couldn't risk it until he was sure.   
  
  


He'd done a little web ~~stalking~~ surfing, and learned a few things about Cas from the Grounds for Murder website. On the About page, he'd discovered Cas was the majority owner. That he liked coffee and running, cycling, and swimming. He'd done a couple of Iron Mans but none that looked recent. He'd met his partner, Charlie, at UC Davis where he earned a PhD in Cultural Studies, emphasis in Gender, Sexuality, and Women's Studies. So that's where the "complicated gender shit" came from. OK. It was weird to Dean that Cas wasn't teaching anywhere because from what he'd understood during his undergrad days in the English department, a PhD wasn't much good for anything else. A master's degree was what most other jobs were looking for. Dean had an undergrad degree in Criminal Justice with an English minor. He was thinking about getting a master's degree because, you know, besides hanging out with Solo and watching Netflix, what else did he have to do with his time? But he hadn't decided on a program yet. The department would pay for it if it were job related, but meh. A lot of cops got law degrees. Sam finished law school, passed the bar, got a hot junior associate job, married Jess the OBGYBN and then quit his career to make sandwiches. As far as Dean could tell, lawyer!Sam had put on his apron and never looked back.

 

He also learned Cas' buddy, Charlie, who he now knew was the "elf girl" Sam went on about, was an investor in the coffee shop and had a UC Davis PhD in Biostatistics with an emphasis in Biotechnology, whatever that was. It sounded cool. Like scifi cool. Dean imagined those robots from Blade Runner. Or the Borg. Yeah, maybe she made Borg. She was also an Associate Professor at the ASU School of Biomedical Informatics, but when he'd scanned her university page, it didn't seem like she taught classes. What was with these two not doing any teaching? There was an image of Charlie in a labcoat. Dean may or may not have entertained a brief fantasy about a hot, petite redhead woman in a labcoat talking about her "experiments." 

 

The icing on the cake were Instagram images of Charlie and Cas' karaoke performance in the shop. The pics looked like they were doing coordinated dance steps in a circle of people. In the pictures, Cas was wearing black eyeliner and had a Chanel quilted handbag with chain strap hung across his chest. Charlie was wearing a Union Jack apron. Ah! Posh Spice and Ginger Spice. Dean would never tell anyone he understood that reference.

 

Thursday morning, October 5, Jo picked him up with coffee in the car, and Dean didn't even have to ask. She was taking him to the scene of an overnight robbery at Drea's Designs, a fashion and jewelry boutique about a half mile from Sally's. The uniforms on the scene had reported vandalism along with the theft of some cash. Bobby wanted them to check it out since it was so close to Sally's. Dean didn't know Andrea Markos, a local designer who seemed to do pretty good business out of her small storefront. He was, however, acquainted with her husband Benny, a French teacher at Metro Tech High that was on the university's campus. Dean played pickup basketball with Benny and a bunch of other teachers almost every Sunday morning down at the park.

 

Dean and Jo pulled up to the crime scene and got out of the car. The crime scene tech waved them into the store - they looked like they were just packing up. The clothing racks along the walls had been cleared, and all the clothes were heaped in the middle of the floor. Dean could smell the grenadine syrup and rum that had poured all over the piles of clothes from the moment he stepped in the doorway. The empty bottles we thrown on top of the clothes. Someone had spray painted anti-immigrant slogans on the wall.  Yeah, this was familiar. And Dean figured there was probably a 100% chance that any fingerprints on the alcohol and syrup bottles would trace back to the bartenders at Sally's. About $400 in cash was missing, it was Drea's cash on hand in case she needed to run out for supplies or something. On their way back to the car, Benny stepped up beside Dean. Dean waved Jo into the car and stood on the curb with his basketball buddy for a moment.

 

"You know her family has been part of the Greek community here in Phoenix for three generations." Benny's hands shook, and Dean pretended not to notice. But he got it.

"I didn't know that, but I'll add it to the report." He clapped Benny on the shoulder.  
  
"You know about the fundraiser for Sally's at Carly's tomorrow night?" Benny asked, passing Dean a paper flyer. He had, in fact he and Jo were going to be there, but he just looked up at Benny and waited for him to continue. 

Benny took a breath. "The gals over at Deluxe Dry Cleaners have already been over, offering to do the cleaning at cost. They think they can save almost all the clothes. Drea's got insurance to cover this stuff. And the cash wasn't really a big deal. I can repaint the walls. So, in the end, she'll lose a few days of business, but otherwise, we'll be fine. It's the hurt, you know? This is her life's work - her art - and it really, really hurts." Benny's eyes were glossy and his voice cracked.  
  
"I hear you. Tell her we all love her. We'll figure this out." Dean knew words weren't enough here, but words were all he had. At least right now.  
  
"You know what she said to me," Benny swallowed hard and went on, his voice taking on a bitter tightness, "she and Sally are women. These are women-owned businesses. Someone stabbed our Sally and Drea through their hearts."  
  
"Jesus, Benny." Dean breathed. Maybe that was something, but maybe it wasn't. He hated himself for thinking it, but two businesses wasn't enough to form a pattern. You couldn't draw assumptions from such a limited dataset. But something about the heart thing resonated with Dean. Yeah. The gay thing felt forced. The immigrant thing felt forced. The veteran thing, the ex-lover thing, the woman thing. All of those potential explanations felt kind of forced. But the heart thing. There was something about killing joy there. "I'll call you, Benny." Dean said, and then he got into the car. Jo pulled away from the curb to take them back to their offices.  
  
***

Every First Friday in downtown Phoenix was a zoo. The galleries and businesses opened. Street musicians played. Local craftspeople setup tents to sell their wares. Local musicians played in galleries or on the streets. Food trucks were corralled together in one lot surrounded by makeshift picnic tables. There were drum circles, street performers, fortune tellers and tarot card readers. And there were throngs of people. The police shut down vehicular traffic into downtown and turned the whole area into a pedestrian zone. Which was necessary because the thousand of people didn't confine their activities to the sidewalk, no. They were in lawns, on roofs, in the streets. It was a zoo. A very fun zoo. And tonight, October 6, the First Friday of October, was an even bigger zoo because the weather was finally beginning to cool off at night and the desert denizens had come out in force to enjoy the sub 90-degree temperatures.

 

And Dean and Jo were right in the middle of all of it. They'd spent two hours at Carly's just passing out their business cards, making conversation, and being visible. One crime rallied the community. Two crimes led to outrage. Dean and Jo knew though that if they didn't get their arms around this and soon, more crimes was going to lead to fear, and the antidote to fear, according to the community policing best practices, was being visible. And Dean and Jo, dressed in their business casual and wearing their most winning smiles knew how to look visible. There were plenty (read _: omg so many_ ) of uniforms out on the street directing traffic and walking foot patrol, that they'd locked their service weapons in Dean's gun safe and headed out minimally armed (read: a couple of knives and one ankle holster, so like, barely armed at all). They'd sipped iced tea and worked the crowd at Carly's, but after a couple of hours, Jo suggested they split up. She wanted to follow up on the female business owners angle, and she had a list of local galleries and shops owned by women she wanted to check out. She thought it'd be better if she went alone, again that visibility strategy, and Dean agreed. He decided to just walk up and down the streets watching the street performers and turning on the Winchester charm. Maybe he'd hear something. Jo threw him a fist bump and strode off toward a hipster photography studio. Dean turned and joined the flow of people in the crowded street.

 

In his jeans and a dark green henley, Dean stood out more than he blended in. At least down on this end of the block. There were people with glow necklaces and bracelets. Face painting. Women in ubiquitous festival wear that Dean always thought of as "flower child and free love fashion" blended with hipster men and guys in urban street gear. Dean paused for a few minutes to watch a graffiti battle against the side of a building. The murals came together so fast, and they were so cool, that he found himself easily overlooking the fact that the artists whose faces were hidden behind bandanas were probably too young to be legally buying spray paint.

 

On the corner, a group of teens had put down several large pieces of cardboard and were doing old school breakdancing complete with a boombox. It was cool.  Especially the one girl, a tiny thing who couldn't have been more than fifteen, who was really throwing down with strength moves that made Justin Trudeau look like an amateur. Up ahead was a drum circle and a bunch of people dancing in the street to the beat. Dean wanted a beer, and he didn't feel like trying to navigate the dancers, so he ducked to his left down an open space between two buildings that would take him out onto the next street over. Three steps into the alley, he heard a whisky-warm voice behind him call his name over the cadence of the drums, "Dean."

 

Dean's heart stuttered, more from surprise at being called out in an alley than anything else. Yeah, that was his story, and he was sticking with it. He paused, took a deep breath (hey, a bendy yoga girl taught him that), and turned to face the Hot Barista. Cas was in high tops, skinny jeans, a faded blue Ramones t-shirt that fit his slim frame like it was tailored to his body. There was a pink glow necklace around his neck that had some kind of button hanging from it, but Dean couldn't read it from here. And he had blue and yellow glow bracelets around his wrists. He looked ... good. Yeah. Good.  
  
Dean nodded at the dozen or so bracelets on Cas' wrists, "did you find Molly?" Cas laughed which relaxed Dean a bit since the joke wasn't very funny and Cas was going along with it anyway.

Cas raised his voice a bit as the drums rose in crescendo, "The [ASU Quidditch team](https://www.facebook.com/asuquidditch/?fref=ts) is selling them on the next street down to raise money so they can travel to the national Quidditch tournament this year. I'm a sucker for Quidditch." While he was answering, Cas had closed the distance between himself and Dean. And then he'd taken two more strides and was leaning against the building behind Dean. Dean turned around to judge Cas' expression, but no, he seemed totally serious about the Quidditch thing. What?  
  
"Um, Cas, I was joking about the drugs, but are you high? Quidditch?" His heart thumped along to the beat. Or the beat thumped along to his heart. One of those.   
  
Cas laughed again, it was like warm honey pouring over his skin, and that was another image he hit the save button on. "No, they really have a Quidditch team. And they almost won the nationals last year." 

"Huh. But they don't fly, right?"  
  
"No, sadly," Cas turned both his palms up in a kind of supplication, and shrugged, "they use brooms but they don't fly."  
  
Dean's gaze followed the graceful fingers up narrow wrists, over the finely muscled forearms and biceps, across square shoulders to a sharp clavicle that was a touch more hollowed than Dean felt like it should have been, an elegant neck, a ridiculous pink, glowing necklace, and a large button hanging from it that read "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get my consent."  
  
"You get that from the students too?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin.  
  
"Nope," Cas shot back. "That's all me." Cas was still leaning against the wall, but he was tapping along with the beat on his right thigh. It was a nice thigh.

It was a nice beat too, Dean bobbed his head a little, as they enjoyed the completely not uncomfortable moment alone together in the alley.

Cas did the neckroll thing again, and Dean's eyes tracked his Adam's apple. "You're still looking at me Dean."

And he was. He was still looking. And he was curious too, "you're not wearing the eyemakeup tonight?"

"Is that an observation or a question?"

"Um, it's a question as a result of an observation." His quip earned him more of that rich, honeyed laughter, save, save, save.

"I have to feel like it, and tonight I didn't." Cas was looking into his eyes now, and Dean wondered what he saw there.

"I liked it, it was a good look on you. It's hot." Dean hesitated, rewound the words to check them, and then quickly added, "I like you without it too though."  
  
"I like you in green," Cas replied. "And jeans," he added. And then after another moment, "and I can get behind the whole cocky swagger too."

"You think I'm cocky?" Dean quirked an eyebrow and, oh, it was on now. He stepped forward and leaned against the wall close to, but not quite invading, Cas' space. 

Cas grinned down at his hands and then back at Dean's face, "I don't think you're cocky, I  _know_ you're cocky." And then he parroted back Dean's words, "I like it, it's a good look on you. It's hot."  
  
"You're wearing that cologne again though, the one you were wearing last week. The one that smells like tobacco, cloves, patchouli, and tea?" Dean breathed in through his nose and let his pleasure at the warm, sweet, masculine scent rise into his face and eyes, "an observation, not a question."  
  


Cas leaned forward crossing the boundary into his personal space, "you've got a good nose."  
  
"Is that a good look on me?"

"Yes. It's a great look. A magnificent nose. Framed by gorgeous cheekbones, eyes like summer grass, plush ripe fruit lips, and an absurdly attractive sprinkling of freckles that make me want to trace them with my tongue." Cas' voice was low and even, his eyes gracing Dean's face like he was reading it, like reading those words off a page.  
  
(Holy hellhounds). His move. Dean decided it was time to wrap this up, "Are you seeing anyone?"  
  
Cas cocked his head like that was a strange question, "No. ...Are you?" the second half of his sentence added as almost an afterthought.  
  
"Nope" Dean grinned, all cocky and shit.  
  
"Is there a reason why you're asking?"

"Well, the last time I kissed a girl without clarifying an assortment of relationship statuses, I got hit in the face with a plate of roasted eggplant AND I got to feel like a dick. Now, I clarify. I'm all teachable and shit." For the first time, Dean could see that he'd caught Castiel a bit off guard, and he was liking it. A lot. Ha! Take that Sexy-Cat-Cas. Yeah, that was going to be a thing.

"You're an interesting guy, Dean."

"You're pretty fucking interesting yourself, Cas."  
  
"Dean, how do you feel about a little public indecency?"  
  
"I could consent to that." Dean said slowly, thoguhtful expression on his face, like he was giving this proposal some careful-as-shit consideration.  
  
"Say yes, Dean, and I'll grope and kiss you against this wall."

(Oh, gods yes.) "Yes."

Cas growled low in his throat (holy shit) and with a liquid shift of his body, he had Dean's back pressed up against the brick wall. His right hand cupped Dean's jaw, and his left slipped under Dean's shirt to rest against his ribs. When Cas' soft, lightly chapped lips brushed Dean's, he tilted his head into Cas' hand and pressed his mouth into the kiss.  
  
Cas shifted his weight again and his left foot moved in between Dean's feet, neatly pressing their bodies together knees to chests. Cas was warm, warm, warm, and his dry soft fingers played along the lines of Dean's ribs. The spicy scent of cloves and tea filled his nostrils. With their lips still pressed together, Cas traced Dean's full lower lip with his thumb, and Dean opened his mouth, deepening the angle of the kiss teasing Cas' lips with his tongue. This earned him another low growl as Cas sucked Dean's tongue into his mouth. Dean tasted absinthe and something waxy like lipbalm and moaned softly, utterly unashamed of his desire in this alley, in the middle of this city, under this wide open night sky. He felt the corner's of Cas' mouth lift into a smile, and Cas murmured low in approval nipping and licking his way into Dean's mouth.   
  
Slowly, with oh so deliberate slowness, Cas drew the fingers of his right hand down Dean's chin, briefly wrapping them over his Adam's apple and jugular, and making Dean shudder at how easily those long, graceful fingers closed around his throat. Cas shifted again, grinding together at their hips pulling another moan from somewhere pulsing and hot behind Dean's beating heart. Drums. Laughter. Voices. They all blurred together and then faded away. With the clever grinding of his hips, Cas had created a little space between their chests so he could draw those elegant fingers over Dean's breastbone, pausing again briefly to press over his thrumming heart, then drifting down, down to his stomach, where Cas moved both hands to Dean's hips and pulled hard, evidence of his arousal solid and warm against Dean's hip. That was going to leave a mark.

Cas shifted his weight back and broke the kiss. He brushed a softer, almost-chaste kiss to Dean's cheekbone, and then rested their foreheads together just taking a moment to breathe. Time slowed. From somewhere off to their right, someone kicked a glass bottle and sent it rolling through the alley, tinkling like chimes on the wind.

Cas released Dean's hips and stepped back. From his jean's pocket, he took a slip of paper and tucked it into Dean's front pocket. Dean looked at Cas, confusion slowly shifting into disappointment and then to understanding.

"Another time, Dean," Cas said with a reassuring smile. And then he turned and walked out of the alley and out into the dancers on the street. Dean knocked his head back into the wall three times and drew a deep breath.

"Fuck me."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, from the bottom of my hot-black-coffee heart, for the subscribes, kudos and comments. You people are the cream in my espresso. You're the glaze on my scones. You're the smite in my sword <3


	11. The One With All the Cheering and Texting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas dances. Charlie cheers. Jo texts. Dean gets a date.

 

Charlie had seen Dean and Jo leaving Carly's bar when she'd briefly stopped in to hug Sally and Katie and drop off a check before making her way back to the Quiddich booth to sit with the undergrads selling bracelets. She was one of the faculty sponsors of the Quidditch club and team, and not that much was expected of her. All she really had to do was sign the occasional form and show up at fund raisers to hang out if they sounded fun. But Charlie actually liked the Quiddich undergrads, adorable nerds that they were, and if she wasn't working late, she often went to watch their practices and games. She'd made it back to the booth where Cas was helping the students hang a banner over their table to tell him that she'd seen Hot Cop, and he was walking around alone. Cas told her he was here to spend time with her, but she was insistent.

"Cas!"

"Charlie ..."

"CAS!!!" she hopped up and down in the middle of the street drawing the undergrads' attention.

Cas put his hands on his hips and gave her his sternest 'behave yourself' face: "Charlie, we're selling bracelets, and then we're eating [Sonoran hot dogs](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonoran_hot_dog) from food trucks, then we're going back to your place where we'll drink wine in the garden and where we'll eventually fall asleep until we're awakened before dawn by garbage trucks." He held his pose and expression while they stared each other down, but after several seconds, he broke into laughter. 

Charlie hopped up and down again, "hahahahaha! You're so bad at staredowns. I win! You go find Hot Cop!" The undergrads cheered. 

Charlie grabbed a pen and post-it note from the table and wrote "Castiel's phone number, but text, don't call, because he never answers calls or listens to voicemails xoxo - Charlie." She folded the post-it and stuck it in Cas' front pocket, standing up on her tiptoes to press a loud kiss to his jaw. "MWAH!"

Cas shook his head and made a show of adjusting his t-shirt and running his hands through his hair. He took a tin of lip balm out of his pocket, patted it onto his chapped lips, slipped it back into his pocket, bowed with a flourish to the booth of students, and then pivoted to go in search of Dean. The students cheered again. 

***

Cas talked to Dean.

Cas talked to Dean in an alley.

Cas kissed Dean in that alley. 

Cas kissed Dean in that alley, and it was really good. So good.

Then Cas passed Dean Charlie's note and stepped back. 

He thought Dean had at first looked a little disappointed, but then he thought Dean got it. Tonight he was hanging out with Charlie. He could get to know Dean another time. And Charlie had told him Dean was at the fundraiser, so he must be working tonight. Dean turned him down the last time because he was working, and Cas was teachable too. 

So, Cas stepped away from Dean and into the crowd of dancers.

A pretty girl with long blue and green braids (mermaid! hell, yes!) in a cropped, white peasant blouse and denim cutoffs lifted her arms above her head and swayed her hips blocking his path. He moved into her space and danced with her, fascinated by her impressive muscle isolation and the slow undulation of her body. When she slipped closer to hook her arms around his shoulders, he placed his hands on her hips and synchronized with her movements. They rolled together against the rhythm -- just surfing the beat and the energy of the street, eyes bright. And then, when the rhythm dropped into a lull, before the circle could transition and rally, Cas leaned in close to her ear to be heard over the drums and whispered, "thank you for the dance." She pouted, her glossy Barbie pink lower lip poked out, but she did it with a smile. It was a pretty little mermaid pouty smile. Then he turned and slipped through the rest of the dancers to make his way back to Charlie who was waiting for him at the Quidditch booth.

"Hey, Cas!" she waved when she saw him, a dizzying amount of glow bracelets hanging off her tiny wrists. "Did you catch up with him?"

Cas winked and dug the lipbalm out of his pocket to apply some more. The students cheered again. Cas picked Charlie up in a hug and spun her around. When he set her down, she punched him in the shoulder, "Nice work, tiger!" He waved goodbye to the students and grabbed Charlie. She said her goodbyes, and then hand in hand, they walked through the streets taking in the sights on their way to the foodtrucks.

 

***

Dean was alone in an alley, which, now that he thought about it, being alone in an alley was creepy. He didn't feel like going back to the street festival, so he walked down toward the lot designated for Uber. He pulled out his phone and texted Jo.

DetDean 10/6/17 21:15PM

"I've had enough. Heading home"

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 21:16PM

"You ok?"

  
  
DetDean 10/6/17 21:16PM

"Um. I may have kissed the barista"

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 21:17PM

"HOW? HOW did this even happen?! I JUST LEFT YOU!"  
  


JoBeth 10/4/17 21:17PM

"Does he have you lojacked!?"  


 

JoBeth 10/4/17 21:17PM

"You know what, forget it. I'm going to finish up here at meet you at your place"  


  
DetDean 10/6/17 21:18PM

"No. I don't want to talk about it"

 

JoBeth 10/4/17 21:18PM

"I'll TELL SAM!!!!!"

  
DetDean 10/6/17 21:19PM

"Fine. But bring beer. You're not drinking all mine"

 

***

Dean's Uber ride was surprisingly uneventful and short. He only lived a couple of miles away. Not like that one time where the driver got tired of waiting for traffic, put his SUV in 4-wheel drive mode, and set off through a construction site to get around the traffic jam. It had been a long time since Dean had written a citation, but that guy, that guy got his plates called in. But this time, no 4-wheeling. No suspiciously burnt-rope smelling interior. Just a short silent ride home. Dean thanked the young woman and hopped out of the little white Honda Civic and jogged up his front steps.

 

Solo met him at the door. She trilled a happy greeting and then stretched up on her hind legs asking to be picked up. He scooped up his best girl and headed into the kitchen to rummage in the fridge for snacks. He found cold pizza, so he set it out and pulled two plates from the cupboard. He took the food out to the coffee table and deposited Solo on the couch. He figured Jo was maybe 15 or 20 minutes behind him.

 

He spent a few of those minutes idly petting his cat and staring at the wall. He kissed the barista. Well, the barista kissed him, and then he kissed the barista back. There was some groping and grinding. Yeah. Finally, he pulled the slip of paper from his pocket, opened it up and laughed out loud. Yeah, he understood that. If his job didn't require it, he wouldn't answer the phone or listen to voicemail either. He entered Castiel's number into his phone.

 

Then he sent a text.

 

  
DetDean 10/6/17 22:00PM

"This is Dean"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:02PM

"Hello, Dean"

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:02PM

"Did you know you taste like absinthe?"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:04PM

"I sometimes taste like absinthe. [It's lipbalm](http://www.tokyo-milk.com/products/absinthe-lip-elixir)"

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:05PM

"You have absinthe lipbalm?"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:06PM

"Which you know for a fact by close observation"

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:06PM

"That I do, don't I?"

 

Castiel 10/6/17 22:07PM

"Yes, you really do. So what's your actual question then?"

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:08PM

"Why you gave me your phone number on a note that was obviously written by Charlie"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:08PM

":) She saw you at Carly's. I am hanging out with her tonight. We don't see each other enough"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:09PM

"she sent me to find you and wrote my number down while I made myself pretty"

 

Oh, Dean thought. OK. All of this made some sense. So Cas was spending tonight with his friend and just broke off for a bit to give Dean his number.   


DetDean 10/6/17 22:11PM

"Well it worked, you are pretty"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:12PM

";) and it got me your number"

 

Jo pulled into his driveway and her headlights briefly flooded his living room. He'd been sitting there. Alone. In the dark. With a cat. Which was not at all the behavior of someone who like an hour ago was making out with a near-stranger in an alley. Dean got up and turned the lights on and shooed Solo off to his bedroom. There. That's more like what a making-out-in-alleys guy would do.

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:15PM

"My partner Jo is here, gotta go"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:16PM

"Goodnight, Dean"

 

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:16PM

"Let me make you dinner sometime?"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:17PM

"If you let me make you dessert"

 

DetDean 10/6/17 22:17PM

"I'll text you tomorrow. Will dessert taste like absinthe?"

 

  
Castiel 10/6/17 22:17PM

"Maybe. Tomorrow, then"

 

Jo walked in the front door with a six pack of Kiltlifter in each hand. She took one look at the Cheshire grin on Dean's face and said, "what did you do now!?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seriously had that 4-wheeling through a construction site Uber ride. Also one with a guy who kept taking his very thick lenses glasses on and off to try to see the road better. There was the time the driver talked to me for 30 minutes about day trading. Oh, Uber. What would we write about it not for you? Do you think Charlie is going to meddle? Or be the awesome wingwoman?


	12. That Fine Line Between So Very Good and So Very Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas make dinner plans. Dean's day turns dark. Cas steps in to take care of Dean. But things get pretty messy in the clear light of day. Or, be careful who you wake up to (no, I'm not at all sorry :p ).
> 
> * Warning for domestic violence, murder (not the main characters), and general all around awfulness of some humans
> 
> *** Looong chapter. Lightly edited. I'm losing the battle of the tenses. But, I'll take another pass at it when I'm sober.

"Castiel!," MJ smiled brightly as Cas carried a tray of coffees and teas over to the Book Biddies who were just settling into their usual spot at the coffee shop.

"MJ, I saw on the blog you women took a weekend trip down to Bisbee. It looked like fun."

"Oh, we had a great time!" Rosemary elbowed in while snagging her cup of tea. "Sit!" she cried out and dragged on Cas' arm, and then María and Sandy were scooching over to make room between them.  "Hey!" Cas said in amusement, "I'm big! I'm a big, strong man!" but he still managed to find himself smooshed on a three-person sofa with Rosemary, María and Sandy. María against his left and Sandy on his right. He grinned at his dear, new friends and stretched his arms over the back of the couch behind both women, and settled into their giggling and gossiping about running rings around the other tourists in the historic, southern Arizona town.

Cas felt the warmth bubble up in his chest at Margo sharing a funny story about she and Cora closing the saloon at historic Copper Queen hotel, and how an "old, widower cowboy with very nice boots and mother-of-pearl buttons on his western shirt squired them back to their room," and left them directions to his ranch so they could all come out the next day and sit at the picnic tables beneath his pecan trees, drinking local wine, while he and his daughter and son-in-law grilled steaks and told them stories of how much things have changed or stayed the same in the area, while the grandchildren ran and played around their feet.  Cas really did adore these women. They made friends wherever they went, and they loyally kept each other's company. It reminded him of how he felt about Charlie.

 

"Cas," Amy Sue stage-whispered conspiratorially, "the dapper barista said there's an attractive police detective sniffing around you." Which made Cas smile because Dean did seem to like the way he smelled.

 

"I dont know what you could possibly be talking about," Cas replied, his face the picture of innocence. 

 

Their little circle burst into laughter and good-natured cat-calling as Sarah added, "I heard Kevin refer to him as Cas' 'Hot Cop.'" More good-natured laughing.

"Alright, alright," Cas raised his hands in surrender. I may or may not have agreed to a tentative dinner date with a very nice, intelligent, and hard-working member of the Phoenix Police Department." 

 

"Tentative? Why tentative?" asked Carol, looking up from her knitting. She rarely spoke up, but Cas knew she was a sharp one, having retired from a career as a teaching nurse only a year ago.  
  
"That's how they do it now," Kathi told her sagely, "they all have texting, so they send each other arrangements as they go. No need to plan ahead or get anxious about it or turn it into a production like we used to."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't mind a _little bit_ of a production," Cas mused, and then he turned an impish smirk on them. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized things were backing up at the counter.

"Ladies, I need to go help Kevin, it was so nice to hang out for a minute." Together, María and Sandy shoved him up from his position between them, and the Biddies extracted his promises that he would keep them posted about developments with the Hot Cop. And then Cas was tying on an apron and pulling down jars of tea for the orders stacking up.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he waited until he and Kevin had cleared the backlog of orders to check it. Dean was asking if tonight at 7:30-ish maybe 8, would be ok for dinner depending on when Dean was able to leave work and stop by the grocery store.  
  
Cas texted back that it would be fine.

Dean politely asked if Cas had any allergies or food restrictions, and Cas sent back that he didn't. Dean replied with a smiley emoji.

Dean said he'd send Cas his address and instructions tonight when after he left the office.

Cas sent back his own smiley emoji. Biddies. Hanging out and staying busy with Kevin. Then dinner with Dean would make this day just about perfect.

  
***

The day had started out so well. Jo picked Dean up with the good coffee (and she and Becky had plans to do movies and the mall on Saturday, so this whole good coffee thing was turning into a new friendship for Jo too), and they made an appearance in court - a robbery and assault case on the mid-morning docket. The prosecutor and defense attorney agreed on a plea deal just as the judge had seated the jury. The judge entered the plea, and the jury and witnesses were dismissed with the thanks of the court. Dean and Jo grabbed lunch from a bánh mì truck on the street opposite the courthouse, and then they headed back to their offices to clear some of their endless stream of paperwork and phone calls. Which was good, really good. Because it meant he and Jo would wrap up their day at a relatively normal hour, and he could make dinner for Cas. He texted Cas. Cas texted back. Emojis were exchanged, and Dean was happy.

He and Jo gamely made their way through their paperwork and discussed Dean's menu options for dinner. Jo thought his steak with romesco, roasted fingerling potatoes, and arugula salad was the right combination of impressive/delicious and easy to prepare. Dean had been thinking enchiladas because his made-from-scratch tomatillo sauce did all manner of amazing things for poached chicken, but in the end, he agreed with Jo. It would be better to put together something easy and be relaxing in a clean kitchen, drinking beer and leaning on the counter with energy leftover to flirt.

Dean could roll out the fancy sauces and complicated preparations when he had more time. Maybe a Saturday in the kitchen with Cas, showing him how to broil chiles over a gas flame. They hadn't even had their  first date, and Dean was planning lazy days around the house with Cas cast as the boyfriend. 

It was good. Really, really good. And then, suddenly, it went bad as the domestic disturbance with hostages call came in. Really, Really bad.

Dean had seen his share of bad things. But bad things involving kids were the worst things he ever saw. The twin five year old boy and girl clung to each other, clearly traumatized. One case worker stood with them on a neighbor's lawn across the street from their house, while another case worker was making terse calls on her phone. The children's aunt, who Jo had learned was also their nanny, was in an ambulance on her way to a nearby Level 1 Trauma Center, condition grave. The boys' teen sister's body was still in her bed where she died. Her mother's body was on the floor in the kitchen.

After a standoff with police, dad had surrendered. The man hadn't said a word when he stepped out onto the front lawn, hands raised, and then knelt in the grass waiting for the tactical unit to search and handcuff him. He was still silent in the back of a police cruiser, sitting stiff-postured and staring straight ahead at the back of the set in front of him. Looking for all the world like the tax lawyer he was. Then, of course, the tactical unit had to clear the house. Forensics was coming in. Dean and Jo waited across the street in a van with the homicide detectives they would be backstopping. A case like this, perfect house, perfect family, perfect lives, perfect parents, there would be a lot of media attention that would follow not only the investigation, but also the trial. The police would have to talk to family, friends, teachers, co-workers, neighbors, everyone. Bobby had called all hands on deck.

The case workers were huddled together poring over the screen of a tablet. The twins under the tree on the lawn began to cry. And with not a second thought, Dean was out of the van and crouched in the grass, the tiny kids pulled close to his chest. He sat back onto the lawn in the shade and pulled the little ones into his lap, then wrapped his big, bear arms around them. At 6'2", Dean was shorter than Sam, but he was still a tall, strong man, and he knew from experience with raising Sam, that nothing made a kid feel safe like being wrapped in a rib creaking hug. One of the case workers started over to dissuade Dean - procedures and policies, after all, but Jo stepped in front of her, flashing her badge.

Jo knew the case workers weren't the enemies, but they were underfunded, understaffed, under-resourced, and their reporting structure was a revolving door of bureaucrats. While this team of case workers, a 20-something male and a slightly older female both probably fresh from college, were clearly fighting the good fight on their phones and tablets, Jo knew her badge and gun carried some weight. And she was going to use them to buy her partner and those kids _just one damned minute_ of solace.

The sun fell behind the skyscrapers. Portable lights were brought in to light the interior of the home because at some point during this horrorshow, dad had taken an axe to the conduit beneath the breaker box cutting the main power to the house. He'd also cut the phones. Unless the aunt survived the trip to the hospital, then survived through surgery, then came out of her medically induced coma at some nonspecific time in the future with her memory in tact, something the responding paramedics wasn't willing to give the cops odds on, the detectives were going to have some trouble creating an accurate timeline.

Dean had ridden with the kids and caseworkers to the hospital to get them checked out and to leave contact information with the trauma team working on the aunt. Jo had followed in their car. They called Bobby who asked them to wait at the hospital and update the records once the kids were handed off to an emergency foster home. In the end, it was Bobby's wife Ellen who arrived for the kids - Ellen in her levis, running shoes, and pastel pink button-down blouse topped with a pale yellow, lightweight cardigan looking like just the right combination of fierce mama bear and soft place to land. She carried fluffy blankets to wrap around the tired "kiddos," one printed with bears and one with elephants. This wasn't Ellen's first rodeo.

Dean and Jo knew, of course they knew, that Bobby and Ellen were a licensed emergency home where kiddos stayed just a short while until more permanent arrangements could be made. The wall in Bobby's den at home was a portrait gallery of framed candids of all the babies, kids, and teens who'd passed through Ellen's safe way-station on their way to hopefully somewhere more permanent. Bobby must have pulled some strings, but Dean didn't care. God he was glad to see Ellen. He threw his arms around her and sniffled into her hair while she patted his back and mumbled soothing words. After just a few seconds, he pulled away, and then Jo was in her arms whispering a string of profanity into Ellen's ear, while Ellen held on fiercely and swore Jo promises she'd take care of "their" kiddos. Their names were Max and Livvie. The docs said they were in shock, dehydrated, and both had had blood on their hands and feet. But they were otherwise ok. For that, Jo whispered a prayer of thanks to the gods of small things while Dean held her hand.

They called Bobby again letting him know they witnessed the handoff of the kids from CPS to Ellen. Bobby acknowledged this news with a grunt and asked them to check in with the trauma team before they headed back to the office to upload their reports into the case repository. It was coming up on 10PM when Dean and Jo appeared at the nursing station for the trauma wing. The aunt, Jennifer, was still in surgery, they were told, but so far she was holding on. If they'd wait, one of the surgeons was soon to rotate out, and she'd stop and talk with them briefly. So they waited. It was the surgeon who had removed the bullet that had come to a stop near Jennifer's heart who met them.

She was a tall, lean woman in her 50s, with black hair, olive skin, and a heart-shaped face. Her lips were pulled in a thin frown. She shook their hands. Jennifer was holding on, although she'd been resuscitated twice, once in the ambulance and once on the table. The repairs to her heart valve looked good. Surgeons were still working on the head injury, they didn't expect the bullet fragments to have done much permanent damage -- the surgeon said she wasn't a forensic specialist, but it wasn't a direct shot to the head, which was its own kind of small blessing. But the swelling was causing Jennifer some problems, and that was always dicey. Another bullet had shattered her femur, which wasn't as much of a concern as the arterial damage the surgeons were dealing with right now. Jo huffed quietly because what kind of day were you having when your shattered femur was a minor concern by comparison. The surgeon's face slipped briefly from professional to compassionate as she appraised Jo. They thanked her and she swept off to save someone else's life, Dean supposed.

 

Jo and Dean stopped again at the desk to double-check that their names and contact info were included with both the kiddos' medical file and Jennifer's. Then they got in their car. Dean offered to drive, but Jo declined. Dean let her play tough because she needed it more than he did. it was then that he realized he'd made dinner plans with Cas. 11:15PM. Shit.

 

Dean leaned is cheek against the cool glass of the passenger window and then just rolled it down to sweep in the jasmine-scented night air. Jo made a sound of approval and rolled her window down as well. They drove in silence another minute and then Dean got out his phone. No texts from Cas. He opened the messaging app and wrote out a quick text.

DetDean 10/13/17 23:15PM

Cas, I'm really sorry about dinner. I had to work

 

  
Castiel 10/13/17 23:17PM

It's no problem. Are you OK?

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:18PM

I'm fine. Maybe we can do it next weekend?

 

  
Castiel 10/13/17 23:18PM

I saw you on the news. Why don't you let me come over and make you a drink? We can stare at Netflix for awhile.

 

Dean thought about that for a moment. There had been news vans on the scene and reporters behind the barricade, of course there had been. Phoenix PD had a good relationship with the local journies, but they probably had run footage of all the cops and support units milling on the scene as a backdrop to the nightly news.

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:20PM

It's just a bad night. And I'll be out late. I have reports to file still.

 

  
Castiel 10/13/17 23:20PM

I know. I'm sure you're exhausted. You know I'm always up until the wee hours.

 

 

Dean looked over at Jo as they pulled into the parking lot. She stared back at him, and then she asked, "how long do you think it will take for us to deal with this paperwork for tonight?"  
  
He thought about it. They'd been typing into his laptop at every spare moment. They just needed to check in with whoever was coordinating their efforts, upload some files, back up some files, sign off on some stuff. "Hour and a half, maybe."

 

"OK," Jo said. Then she pulled out her phone, "Hey, Cole" she said into the phone. "Sorry it's so late. ... Yeah  ... I don't know what the news said, but it's bad. ... Yeah.  OK.  It will be around 1AM though. Thanks." and Jo clicked off the call. She put her phone back in her pocket while he continued to stare at Cas' text. Her own hookup arranged, she asked, "You're going to Sam's tonight?" More an instruction than a question. 

"Probably," he replied. Maybe it was the truth. He looked over at her and gestured with his phone, "I'll just be a minute."

"I'll go in and get started," she said hopping out and heading around to the trunk to get out their bags. God he loved Jo so damned much. He hoped someday she let Cole give her more than alcohol and orgasms. They'd be good together, and it was obvious to anyone who saw them that Cole was taking whatever he could get, but he'd readily take the whole package if she'd let him. Marines don't play.

He thunked his head back against the headrest, then took one of those deep breaths in through his nose blowing it out his mouth. Then he did it again feeling his shoulders settle. Thanks, bendy girl.

Fuck it.

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:25PM

If you'll be up at 1, I could come to yours

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:25PM

Just a drink, I mean. And Netflix staring

 

  
Castiel 10/13/17 23:26PM

OK. I'm in the Luhrs Tower on Central & Jefferson. Above [Bitter & Twisted](https://bitterandtwistedaz.com/)? There's a bldg entrance facing Jefferson - Mark is doorman

Castiel 10/13/17 23:26PM

I'll email him your pic so he'll just wave you up when he sees you. 14th floor. Door code is 9741. Let yourself in

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:28PM

You have a photo of me?

 

Castiel 10/13/17 23:28PM

Your headshot is on the Phx PD website - I just searched for it and sent it to him

 

DetDean 10/13/17 23:29PM

You have a doorman?

 

Castiel 10/13/17 23:29PM

:) Dean, go do your thing. I'll be here with Netflix when you're done

 

 

What do you say to that? Dean wondered. When you're tired and you don't want to be around people but you really shouldn't be alone. And a blue-eyed guy you kissed in an alley on impulse that one time says 'come over and take a load off. It will be fine.' Like, what do you say to that? An emoji just won't cut it. But Dean didn't have words either, so he pushed the little emoji button on his phone and tapped on the little tiger face and sent it.

 

Cas sent back a party hat emoji.

 

Dean snorted and got out of the car.

 

***

At 1:15AM, Dean was standing out on the street in front of one of those "craft cocktail" bars, Bitter & Twisted. Last call was coming up at 2AM, but the place was still packed. He passed the bar's entrance and found the double doors leading inside the building proper. He was still wearing his badge and gun, and the doorman carefully looked him up and down, nodded, gestured to the elevator, and went back to watching the security monitors on his desk. Dean upgraded him from "doorman" to "security," even as he could hear the sound of a book-on-tape playing softly. Dean worked with enough veterans to know the type. He'd have to ask Cas.

As he approached the elevator, it opened. Doorman Mark must have called it for him? He got in and pressed the button for the 14th floor. The elevator rose quickly, and then opened spilling Dean out into warm light and concrete floors. Dean was briefly confused. He was in a small lobby or foyer. It had a teal midcentury couch and two brown leather club chairs. A coffee table, two end tables, a lamp and some modern art. High ceilings, exposed ductwork and original 1920s brickwork. There was a tall door to his left and one to his right. The door to his right had a regular doorknob lock and deadbolt, while the door to his left had a [keypad where the keyhole](http://www.webringideas.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Electric-Keypad-Door-Lock.jpg) should be. He walked to that door and entered the code, the lock cycled and he turned the door handle.  
  
"Cas" he called softly as he pushed open the door and stepped into an enormous urban loft decorated in natural wood and textures, with a professional kitchen, at least two separate sitting areas, and a huge dining space, and that was just what he could see from the doorway. Dean knew this building dated to prohibition, and he appreciated that Cas' space wasn't that painful, ultra modern, super industrial decor big city loft dwellers seemed to favor. Well, at least that's what they preferred on TV. Dean had only been in a few of these and they'd been much, much smaller. Cas was monied -- did he know that? God he was tired. Was that a wall of books? 

Cas didn't answer, so Dean moved into his space and closed the door behind him. He heard the lock cycle. After studying his surroundings a moment, Dean noticed flickering through the far wall of windows. An outdoor patio? Looking closely, he identified the door to the outside and made his way toward it. As he came upon the door, he realized a long patio ran along this side of the building, with a stone fireplace, a nice seating area, and a set of stairs Dean assumed went up to the roof. Cas was sitting in a chaise lounge reading on an iPad. Dean knocked on the glass door, Cas looked up at him and smiled. He stood up, left his iPad on the chaise, walked over to the door, and stood looking through the glass at Dean's blank face. 

 

Cas opened the door and stepped through it. He closed it purposefully behind himself, and then he pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean didn't care that he still had a bunch of crap in his pockets and his gear on his belt. He just leaned into it and let Cas take his weight.

 

Cas stepped back and looked over Dean carefully, head to toe and then back to head again. 

 

"OK, let's see what you need. I don't have a gun safe, but I have a regular safe over by my desk with a digital combination that you can use, if that's ok. It's just got paperwork in it. There's an empty shelf you can use. The keypad is letters and numbers. The combination is catpants." Cas gestured toward a floating red brick wall that served to create a separate space for a desk and a bookcase. The safe was built into the bookcase. "I'll get you some water and a beer. Be right back." And Cas headed toward the kitchen.

 

Dean still hadn't said a word, and it didn't seem to bother Cas. Which was nice, really. Not talking. He walked over to Cas' workspace and it was neat, like Cas, like the rest of Cas' enormous and surprising home, although Dean was really too numb for surprise, which was probably a good thing. His brain kept making these observations like the analytical part was in conversation with the numb part. Dean was used to it. The dept psychologists even had terms for it. Supposedly it was a useful coping strategy or something. Whatever. While he punched "catpants" into the keypad and the safe cycled open, Dean let his eyes wander to the desk: a laptop, closed; a photo of Cas and Charlie, they looked younger - and they were somewhere else, looked like south of the border maybe; a short stack of mail. Cas hadn't been kidding.

The safe had a thick file folio sitting in the bottom of it. There was one of those passport folios on top of the files. And one of those heavy zipper envelopes people keep cash in. There was an empty shelf. Dean removed his service weapon, removed the clip and placed both in the safe with his badge and his extra clip. He removed the ankle gun and  holster and didn't bother unloading it, he just set the whole thing on the shelf. He slipped the knife sheath out of his other boot and in it went. As did his wallet with his official PhxPD ID and the RFID card that cleared him through various secure doors at the office. He closed and locked the safe. By the time he turned around and headed back toward the kitchen area, Cas was approaching him with one of those large, BPA-free, plastic water bottles and two cans of Kiltlifter from Four Peaks. 

He passed Dean the water bottle, and Dean drank down about half of it with Cas watching. He took the water bottle from Dean's hand and set it on a side table. Then he opened the can of beer and passed it to Dean. He took Dean's hand in his free hand, "let's get you into the shower."  And he tugged Dean deeper into his home, past some more bookcases, another seating area, a concert grand piano, other spaces until Dean lost track and just allowed himself to be led. Cas guided him along into a bathroom that featured dual sinks, a deep and wide jetted tub, and a shower large enough for a basketball team. There was another door to, Dean guessed, a water closet. The floor was the same wood throughout, reclaimed that analytical voice noted. The shower was natural stone and glass and some of the bathroom [walls were natural stone](https://norstone.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/charcoal-bathroom-stone.png?w=400), as well. The effect was, Dean thought, masculine, but also somehow spare and organic.

Dean had thought rich people all had marble, which he hated on principle alone, but this wasn't like that. This was authentic somehow and he idly brushed his fingers against the rough and smooth wall.  Cas dropped Dean's hand and flipped a couple of mysterious-looking wall switches. Then he walked over to the shower, reached in and did something with the controls. He stepped back and turned to Dean as the waterfall shower heads in the ceiling began to pour down water. There were other shower heads built into the walls, Dean noticed, but those weren't spraying water. That analytical voice said something about needing an engineering degree to operate the shower, but Dean didn't listen because the sensory part of his brain was already embracing the sound of falling water. 

Cas caught both of Dean's wrists and pulled him closer. "The shower has on-demand hot water, so you can stay in there as long as you want, you won't ever run out. There's a little screen in there that displays the water temperature. It has an up/down arrow next to it. If you want hotter water, press the up arrow, cooler water, press the down. Washcloths and towels are on the heated racks there," Cas points to the racks on the wall.

"When you're done with the towels, just throw them in that wood hamper." More pointing. This bathroom is the size of Dean's living room and has more stuff in it.

"There's shampoo and soap in there, use whatever you want. Charlie keeps the ginger-grapefruit shower gel here -- she says it's mood-lifting. Mine is the sandalwood-spearmint blue one in the bottle that says 'Lush Dirty,' and I don't know if it does anything for my mood, but it smells good and it amuses me to wash with something called "Dirty." Dean just nodded his head along, setting his beer down on the counter, and unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'll go get you some clothes to hang out it." And Cas left Dean in the bathroom alone to finish undressing. Naked, he stood for a moment staring at himself in the mirror. It's like a dream though, like the Dean in the mirror is the real one, and he's the Dean locked out in the analytical part of his brain noticing freckles, scars, flesh, and bone, in abstract. Dean, in so many pieces. Then he downed the rest of the beer and stepped into the water closet to deal with semi-urgent bathroom business. 

What is to say about this shower? The warm water pouring down over Dean's head is literally eroding all his sharp edges and dissolving them into smoother rises and valleys. The waterfall sound and the smell of the wet stone are transformative. As Dean closes his eyes, he feels himself taken somewhere else. Like any of the waterfalls in any of the desert canyons he's hiked, quiet, out of the way pools kneeling at the feet of towering and ancient stone walls. Deep blues, cool greys and greens, earthy browns and reds, and the warm, smoky scent of mesquite. He squirts some of Cas' blue shower gel on a washcloth and he's stung by the bite of spearmint as the cooling oils chill his skin and dilate his nose and throat. On the heels of the bright mint is the creamy, heady blanket of sandalwood, and in an eyelash blink, the thinking drops away, and the feeling washes over him.

And he feels it all. Soft, soothing warm water. Cooling mint. Grounding sandalwood. Crying children. Blood and sinew and need and want. And the exhaustion that has soaked through to his bones. Rinsing the rosemary shampoo from his hair, he eyeballs the controls and presses "steam," and an LCD screen glows with 20 minutes. Handy that. Dean leans and stretches one arm out of the shower grabbing a towel. Back in the shower, he stretches out on the long stone bench rolling the towel and placing it beneath his neck. The shower fills up with gratifying clouds of warm, wet heat and he's floating on the rhythms of herbs and woods and wet stone. Some time later the steam shower shuts off causing Dean to open his eyes. He wonders if he has fallen asleep. What is to say about this shower? He supposes it was alright.

Out of the shower now, Dean toweled off. On the counter was a neatly folded and stacked selection of clothes: dark grey boxers in a smooth cotton, a faded and soft maroon tee with ASU Crew on the back in gold letters, a pair of Psycho Bunny cotton pajama pants in black with white skull and crossbone bunny heads printed all over them, and a long sleeved American Giant tee in charcoal. Dean decided on just the boxers. The shower had already peeled back all his armor, so why bother covering up now? He tossed his towels into the hamper as instructed, slipped on the boxers -- his dirty clothes have disappeared, m'kay -- and brushed his teeth with the toothpaste and the plastic-wrapped toothbrush left on the counter. The water bottle had been refilled and is also sitting on the counter, while his beer can is gone. Dean downed half the water again. Then, he dried off the counter with another towel, threw it in the hamper, and wandered out into the loft to find Castiel.

Cas for his part was lying on top of an enormous bed that is placed sort of in the corner where two walls of windows meet. It's hard to describe in such a wide open space the ways in which intimacy is carved out with rug color, furniture placement, and sheer force of imagination. But the king bed faces another floating brick wall with a probably 65" flat screen mounted to it. He was reading something on the iPad again. He wore faded black boxers and a faded pink tee printed with a unicorn and the words, "I will cut you." When he saw Dean his smile was soft and warm. He stood, walked around the bed, caught Dean's hand and ushered him to the other side of the bed, lifting the sheets and guiding Dean beneath them. Dean noticed his phone plugged into a charger on the night table. Thoughtful. The lights were low. The sound on the TV was off and set to subtitles. It's playing the season one episode of Killjoys, "[Come the Rain](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4157162/?ref_=ttep_ep8)," where Johnny shows everyone who he really is. Dean thought idly.  
  
"You want another beer?"

"You got anything harder?"

"Bourbon?"

"Yeah," Dean settled into the soft mattress and pillows. The sheets are different, he thought. Light, textured, not smooth but not rough, soft. There's a slightly heavier sheet over that one that is made of the same rough-smooth fabric. The pillows are feather. The sheets, like Cas' towels are white. Cas returned with two glasses with three fingers of bourbon each while Dean's fingers were still exploring the sheets. "Linen," Cas offered. "I have a hard time sleeping, so I'm kind of a princess about my sheets and mattress."  
  
"'ts'comfy," Dean murmured accepting the bourbon and propping himself up against a heap of pillows. Cas gave him a warm smile and slid into bed next to him. "Do you want the volume up?"

"No," Dean replied and relaxed into the pillows pulling a small sip of bourbon. He rinsed the small sip through his mouth, clearing the taste of toothpaste and letting the sweetness soak his palette. Then he pulled another sip, larger this time and let it sit in his mouth savoring it on his tongue. He sighed and groaned in pleasure, swamped by the tactile experiences of the soft bedding against his near-bare skin and the velvety-smooth-honey bourbon lying thick on his lips and tongue, "this's perfect."

Cas chuckled, "Eagle Rare."  
  
Dean hummed in pleasure and licked his lips. The lights were out in the rest of the loft, and Dean lay in a bubble of warm bedside lamplight and the flickering images of Sexy Spacers. He smelled the brown sugar-honey-orange of the bourbon, the fresh soapy note of clean sheets, and something dark, smoky and sensual rising from Cas' skin. "What time do you have to get to work in the morning?" Cas asked fiddling with a high-tech looking alarm clock on his nighttable.

"Don't," Dean murmured, body liquid and heavy, alcohol smooth and warm on his tongue. "Jo and I are standing down until Monday morning, 6AM. I'll get up with you tomorrow."  
  
"M'Kay." Cas flicked a switch on the alarm clock and settled back into the bed.

Dean lay in the bed feeling and not thinking. Sipping and watching and breathing and being. He placed his glass carefully on the dark wood night table, finding a coaster next to his phone. He lay back into the pillows and watched Cas in his peripheral vision. Cas was still reading, eyes flicking over the words, sex hair standing in different directions, a long supple neck disappearing beneath the loose collar of his shirt. Long, finely toned arms holding the ipad in his lap. In a fluid movement, Dean pressed himself up with his forearms, rolled to his left and caught Cas' face in his hands. 

With less than perfect finesse, he pressed his mouth to the bow of Cas' upper lip, enveloped by that smoky, leathery, spicy scent floating over Cas' warm skin. He nipped at Cas' full bottom lip, then pressed in again - the kind of lust-filled kiss that is blunt noses, the heavy weight of lips, and the coarse rub of stubble. Two things happened at almost the same time. First, Dean realized Cas wasn't responding to his kiss, and he had a crystalline flash of Cas' clarity about consent back in that alley. Dean pulled back spare inches and swallowed hard, Cas' blue-blue eyes barely constraining the worlds filling them and threatening to spill over and drown them both. "Dean ..."

Dean thought to move back, but then the second thing happened: Cas' arms came up to hold him close. Cas closed his eyes and pulled Dean into a soft, slow, simmering kiss all velvet lips and shimmering nerve endings. Then he pressed Dean back into his pillows and wrapped his arms around his chest. Dean sighed into the mattress, closed his eyes and drifted off with the scent of Cas in his nose and the taste of good bourbon in his mouth, sleeping the deep, black sleep of the righteous.

 

***

Dean came back to himself slowly. Textured bed linens. Messy bedhead. Smoky oud. Midday light flowing in through the windows. A small bounce on the bed. His memories caught up with his senses, and Dean smiled and stretched luxuriously, warm and rested and holding the analytical voice at bay with the sheer sensual pleasure of comfort and intimacy. Cas.

Feeling like sex and pancakes and then more sex, Dean rolled over to whisper these exact notions into Cas' ear, paired with some overtly suggestive rolling of his hips. He sat up abruptly, soft white linens pooling around his waist in high contrast to his tanned skin in the bright, sunny loft. 

She was stunning. Petite, no, tiny. With shoulder length, deep brown hair that blended to vivid red-violet at the ends. She had a heart-shaped face that was finely boned and inscrutable, almost regal. Clara Bow lips. Wide, warm chocolate eyes heavily rimmed in long, curly lashes. Fair, fair skin, yet the overall delicate effect belied the strength in those deep eyes. She cocked her head to one side and smiled at him. She was wearing peacock blue lace boyshorts and a matching bralette and nothing else. Her gaze began at his hairline and moved slowly, almost lazily down his face, shoulders and chest to settle where the sheets rested just below the waistband of his borrowed boxers. "I was expecting Clarence," she said sultry and low, "but you might do."

With the grace and sensuality of a cat, the woman moved and Dean found himself straddled between her thighs, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes looking into his, smoldering and predatory. "I'm Meg... So you'll know whose name to scream when you come."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Meg. I love her so. Cliffhanger!


	13. Muscle Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sex with a side of domesticity. Jo and Cole make a decision, Dean and Meg bond over their mutual pining for Cas. (spoiler: he only has eyes for Dean)
> 
>  
> 
> Note: I raised the rating on this. I was going with Mature. But then I thought maybe it's Explicit. IDEK? Your opinions about this fic and/or how it should be rated and/or anything else are more than welcome.

Jo pulled into a Circle K, ran in, grabbed a six pack of Four Peaks Pitchfork pale ale from the refrigerator case, paid without making smalltalk with the night clerk, and got back in her car. Cole Trenton had a 1950s ranch-style house in south Scottsdale in a sleepy neighborhood just over the Phoenix city boundary and just a fifteen minute drive from downtown Phoenix. The front porch light was on when Jo pulled into the driveway. She got out of her car and walked around to the side gate, letting herself into the yard. Walking along the stone path beneath the pink grapefruit trees, she made her way around the side of the house and onto the back porch. The back of the house as washed in watery blue from the pool lights. Cole opened the back French doors just as she raised her hand to knock.

The inside of the house was dark behind him and the blue reflecting from the pool undulated over his tanned skin. He wasn't tall, just over 5'9" but he had more than four inches on Jo so that she had to tilt her chin slightly to look into his tired face. He was barefoot and wearing only dark blue boxers, his hair flat on one side from sleep. She held up the beer, and he stepped back and let her into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jo placed the beer on the counter, set her bag on a barstool, and secured her sidearm and badge in the handgun safe on top of a long side table. Funny Cole story. Marines are always Marines. And he was no exception. There was a handgun safe for his 9mm on the dresser in his bedroom. There was a tall gun safe secured to the foundation of the house in a hall closet where he kept his shotgun and rifles. And there was a handgun safe on this side table in the family room for his .38 revolver. Or at least there had been just one. Then Jo started coming around, always using the back door ("only missionaries and sales people come to the front") and leaving her stuff all over the counter. And then one day, there were two handgun safes side by side on the long, skinny table. His and hers. He hadn't commented on it, he'd just left a notecard with the combination scrawled over it (it's an inside joke, and no she won't tell you what it is). See, this was the great thing about Cole - he just wasn't that complicated. Sure he was highly intelligent and funny, but he didn't experience any Millennial ennui. He liked beer, college football, working out, his city job as a manager at the nearby community center, and sex. He liked his friends, his family, his ex-Marine buddies, and Jo. He was Cole. Straight-forward, low drama, reliable, loyal Cole.

She stood in the darkened family room with her hands to her sides and he approached her. "You ok?" he asked low and she nodded and watched as his eyes skimmed over her body for any visible injuries. Finding none, he released a soft sigh. With one hand, he reached forward and unbuttoned her jeans. Pulling slowly as each button slipped from its buttonhole. He knelt on the floor in front of her and loosened one boot. She leaned back against the side table to brace herself while he pulled it off and removed her sock, tucking it into the boot. He removed the other boot and sock, placing it next to the first beneath the table.

From his position on the floor, he looked up at her face. She bit her lip. He pulled her hands from the table and braced them on his own forearms. Then, with well-practiced motions, he placed his hands on her hips and slipped his fingers under the waistband of her underpants, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of her ass, sliding them down her legs, slowly pulling the jeans and underpants down with them. She lifted her feet one at a time as he eased her jeans over them and off, throwing them blindly over his shoulder. He pressed his hands to her thighs and pushed her back gently against the table, spreading her with his hands.

With his tongue, he traced a path up the inside of her left thigh, then blew a soft breath over it sending goosebumps rising over her arms and legs. Jo bit back a moan. He buried his nose in the closely trimmed blonde hair at the join of her thighs and inhaled humming in approval. And then his tongue found her clitoris with a firm, wide stroke. She gasped. He lapped at her purposefully, pulling soft sounds from her throat, her hands resting lightly in his hair.

He groaned at the taste of her, and pulled firmly on the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider and grinding his face against her sensitive, slick skin. Although, given his druthers Cole could (and had, tyvm) while away a whole Saturday afternoon in bed eating her out, enjoying her scent, her taste, the catches in her breathing, her lithe legs thrown over his shoulders, the sunlight dappled on her skin, the way she luxuriated in his attentions and shamelessly voiced her desire. But right now was about Jo. And the Jo who shows up at his back door in the middle of the night is a bang-against-the-wall kind of girl.

She came with her hands clenched in his hair, her spine rigid, her head thrown back, panting. In one smooth motion, he gripped the backs of her thighs and stood up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He slammed her back into the wall and proceeded to fuck three pictures off the wall and one lamp off the end table when her foot kicked it.

***

Jo followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen and found him, still barefoot and shirtless but in baggy running shorts this time, sweeping broken pottery that had been the lamp base into a dustpan. She was wearing one of his t-shirts she'd pulled from a dresser drawer and the bottoms from the bikini she'd left hanging in his bathroom a few weeks ago the last time she'd been here. She'd found it still hanging there on a hook on the back of the master bathroom door this morning. She poured herself a cup of coffee and hopped up on one of the barstools, wrapping her legs around its legs. She watched him over the brim of her cup as he stepped out the back doors to empty the dustbin in the heavy, black, rubbermaid garbage bin on the porch. Her eyes roamed over the sharp angles of his shoulders down the knobs of his spine. "Hey, you," he said as he stepped back into the house, closing the door behind him.

"Mornin'" she murmured into her cup.

"Want to hear what I think we should do today?"

She nodded.

"Lets drive over to your place and pack up your closet and your bathroom stuff. And let's bring them back over here and unpack them into my closet and my bathroom. Then, we'll take a shower and go back to bed."

She titled her head back and drank down the rest of her coffee as he admired the graceful line of her throat.

She stood up, walked into the kitchen, rinsed the mug in the sink, and then placed it carefully in the dishwasher. "OK." She said shyly. And then she was laughing as he swooped in, picked her up and spun her around.

 

***

Cas, soaked in sweat and coated with a light layer of grit, ran into the lobby of his building. He waved at Ced, the day doorman and headed for the elevator. Ced called after him, "Good morning, Mr Novak. I cleared Miss Masters up a little earlier."

Cas froze. Meg. Shit.

This had to be the slowest fucking elevator on the planet.

 

*** MEANWHILE, AS CAS WAS OUT ON A 9-MILE RUN ***

 

Dean's hands automatically came up and settled on the ribs of the woman in his lap.

"Hi, Meg," he huffed out as she shoved him back down onto the mattress.

"Mmmmmm" she moaned as she breathed in the scent of his skin behind his ear. She bit down, gently, licked soothingly over the bite, and then sucked his earlobe into her mouth. It was warm and wet and distracting.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this," he said as his sent his hands a message to stop caressing her soft skin. They almost obeyed, and really, could you blame him if it took the message a second to get through? "But, why are you here and how did you get in and who is Clarence?"

She sat up and moved back to straddling his hips so she could study his face. "I just landed at Sky Harbor like an hour ago. I texted Clar -- Castiel, she corrected, to tell him I was back, but he didn't answer. So I figured he was still asleep, as to be expected really since it's a weekend before 2PM."

Her eyebrows pulled together studying him like he was the slow child and he should know all this already. He nodded at her, signaling her to continue. "Then I came over here, let myself in, dropped my clothes all over the floor because I know it makes him crazy, and crawled into bed. But you're not Cas."

"I'm not," he agreed. He smelled coffee and scanned behind her searching the loft, but no Cas. Apparently wherever Cas had gone, he'd stopped to make coffee first. Dean removed his hands from her ribs and lowered them slowly in an exaggerated gesture to the mattress at his sides as he mostly ruled out serial killer and crazy person.

She circled her hips in a slow grind pulling his attention back up to her face. He moved his hands to her hips to still her movements. He was trying to be polite here, but he didn't quite have the etiquette for this situation.

"Are you Cas' girlfriend?" he asked trying to tack in from the spare facts he had -- no woman stuff in the loft that he'd seen, something about a flight, can get past the lobby security, knows the combination to the door lock, sexy as hell, used to getting naked with Cas.

Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes, all melodic and resonant. "That's hilarious."

"Why aren't you asking me if I'm Cas' boyfriend," he tried again.

She laughed one more, throwing her head back and tossing her hair, "also hilarious."

Huh. OK, time to move this along. Dean raised up, tightening his hands on her hips, twisting at the waist, and moving her off his lap, gently but firmly. She pouted with her lips, but her eyes twinkled.

"Baby's not in the mood? Did Cas wear you out last night?"

"Do you want a shirt to cover up?"

"Why? I don't care if you look. I'm looking at you."

"I'm trying to be a gentleman, here." Her mocking was slowing eroding his sense of humor about this whole situation.

"I don't need you to be a gentleman. I'm a big girl, and I'm the one who got into bed with you."

"You thought I was Cas."

"I know what Cas' body looks like, and I knew yours wasn't his the moment I saw you lying there."

Huh. "What if I were dangerous? Or violent? Or bad in bed or whatever?" Gods, the conversations he kept having with Cas and his people. He wasn't sure he liked having them, but he sure as hell knew he'd miss them if he no longer had them. At least they were always new and never boring.

She cocked her head again, stretching out on top of the sheets, bending her elbow, and propping her head up on her hand. She gave him a warm smile. "You wouldn't be in Cas' bed if you were dangerous, overly violent, or a bad fuck."

Something about that made him laugh, like a lot. Cas' checklist or something. All the belly laughing. She laughed along with him, rolling onto her back, enjoying her own game.

He scrubbed his hands with his eyes and decided to just keep trudging along, "I give up. I don't get you, I don't get this. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Then, as she rolled over onto her side to look at him with those dark, luminous eyes, he added, "except not have sex with you because, you may be as hot as hell, but I kind of had my heart set on something a little different. Different parts, different not you ... " Dean gestured at her body with his hand.

Meg sighed and crawled up the bed to roll over and lie down next to him, "tell me about it. You're pretty but you're not him. You passed, by the way. I give you my blessing."

"I don't get why this isn't awkward as fuck," he added.

She hummed, maybe in agreement. "We could do a threesome when he gets back. He's a demon at multitasking."

He laughed out loud again, "believe me when I say Imma need all of his attention."

 

***

Cas flung open the door and strode into his loft, sex hair standing on end, clothes soaked in sweat, and a frown of consternation on his face only to find Dean in a pair of boxers and Meg in lace underwear lying next to each other in _his _bed and giggling like best friends at a slumber party.__

They took one look at him and burst into hysterics, slapping playfully at each other with their hands. Exasperated at the utter lack of the imagined trainwreck, Cas said, "I'm taking a shower," and without another word he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. For some reason, that was the funniest thing that had happened yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, seriously, I want to be at that slumber party.


	14. I saw you on the news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two vignettes of how Jo and Dean confront their feelings about a public photo of a private moment. Jo is swamped by her emotions, while Dean buries his.

Jo and Cole returned to his house with a half dozen boxes in the back of his little SUV and a pile of clothes on hangers spread over the backseat. Jo was something of a minimalist, so it didn't take long to move her shoes and clothes into ~~his~~ _their_ closet and unpack her makeup, shower, and hair stuff into their bathroom. Two of the boxes were sheets, towels, and blankets because while his bed was more comfortable, they both preferred her linens.

While Jo had only a mobile phone, Cole's house had a dedicated landline. They stood together in his kitchen with the speakerphone on, and recorded a new "Jo & Cole's house, leave a number" message, smiling goofily at each other. The little message light on the phone was flashing, and leaving the phone on speaker, Cole punched in the code so the messages would play. The first was from his mother:

"Cole, honey, we saw your girl Jo on the news last night. She's a beautiful thing. Why don't you bring her for Thanksgiving? Call us back. Oh, this is your mom." BEEP.

Jo figured the media had recorded a ton of background footage of cops entering and exiting the scene, milling around, and looking official. They always ran that stuff when the story was still developing because it filled the space left by the lack of details of an emerging case.

"Hey, it's Jeff. Saw that girl you brought to pub trivia last week on the news with her partner. Badass. Invite her again sometime." BEEP.

"Cole, it's dad. Mother won't tell you this, but that girl is a keeper." BEEP.

"End of messages."

Jo turned to Cole, eyebrows raised, "why are your parents and friends calling about some b-roll footage?"

Blue eyes molten and misty, he cradled her cheek in his right hand, "you don't know?"

"What don't I know?"

A soft chuckle. He took her hand in his and led her into the family room. He dropped into an easy chair and pulled her into his lap. Fiddling with the remote, he turned on the television and scrolled through the programs list on his DVR. He hit play on last night's news broadcast, fastforwarding through the talking heads and b-roll footage and then paused the program.

On the screen, caught in the slightly shaky hand of someone using a camera phone, was a recording of the events in that front yard, beneath that shade tree, that could only have been shot from that front porch.

On the phone last night, Cole had said he'd seen Jo on the news.

In the frozen frame in the screen. Dean was leaping out of the police van. Cole muted the volume and pressed play. Jo watched Dean, jaw set and mouth grim but eyes hot and fierce, cross the lawn in three long strides, drop to his knees in the grass beneath an old mulberry tree, and sweep Livvie and Max up into his arms. She saw herself barrel after him pausing just a few feet away to turn around, plant her feet and take up station at his back. She saw the caseworker approach her, and then she saw herself raise her right hand in the universal signal to stop, while she flicked her blazer open with her left hand, badge clearly visible at her waist. Behind her, Dean sat back onto the grass and pulled those two little kids into his lap, burying their faces in his chest, engulfing them with his wide arms, hiding their despair and fear from a world of prying eyes. In the footage, she stood there, rooted like a tree, hands on her hips, eyes determined - an expression that said she would and could take all comers. Cole paused the screen as the camera zoomed in on her face. "Oh," she said.

He pulled her up against his chest, brushing her hair back with his hand, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "I love you."

***

While Cas showered and Meg rummaged in Cas' drawers for something to wear, Dean checked his phone. He had several texts. He opened those from his sister-in-law, Jess. The first was a picture from that yard. In the image, Dean is sitting in the grass beneath that shade tree with those two little kids' faces buried in his chest. Jo has taken up position behind him in her "come at me, bro" stance he knew well enough from sparring with her at the gym.

The second text was a message, "From the front page this morning, and the news keeps running it during the broadcasts. Call when you can. Guest room is yours when you need it. We <3 you"

There was a text from Ellen, "kiddos are hanging in there. You did good, son"

There was a text from his mom, "proud of you. Love you. Call your brother" with the same image attached Jess had sent.

In his texts last night, Cas had said he'd seen Dean on the news.

Finally, he opened a text from Jo. It was from earlier this morning. It said, "weird night. moving in with Cole"

Dean swatted Meg's ass and darted toward the kitchen. She chased after him, dodging into a shortcut around the counter to skid to a stop in front of the coffee maker, "ladies first!" she shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon, Sam is riled up again about the coffee shop weirdos. What did they do now? There's more gossip and nicknames. Dean and Cas get bitey, and they talk about relationships. Guess which part Dean likes better?


	15. More Than One Kind of Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more domestic scene to round things out: Meg and Dean half-naked pillow fight then gossip and cook breakfast, Cas takes the new best friends in stride.

Cas walked into his kitchen barefoot wearing clean running shorts and a t-shirt. Dean was still in just boxers and Meg was wearing one of his undergrad USC Spartans t-shirts as a minidress. She was sitting on the counter dangling her legs next to where Dean was using a cutting board to chop bell peppers. Their coffee mugs in arms reach. They looked over as Cas walked in, and he nodded toward the mugs, "save me any?" 

"We just made a fresh pot," Dean answered. Meg quirked an eyebrow at Cas, and he pulled the t-shirt over his head, folded it neatly and then, looking her right in the eye, flung the thing randomly over his shoulder in the direction where her clothes were still scattered across the floor and furniture. "Smartass," she snorted. "Slob," he shot back. 

"At least you're not (airquotes)'overdressed' anymore," Dean interjected. 

Taking a sip from her mug, "I usually expect to be naked around here, but _someone_ says he's still trying to figure out the (airquotes) _etiquette_ of Shared Bed Saturday."

"You don't call it that," Dean said, as he thinly sliced a pile of mushrooms.

Cas hummed as he opened a cupboard, pulled down his own mug and filled it with coffee.

"You call it Shared Bed Saturday?" Dean stopped slicing mushrooms to look at Meg's face. She snickered. Cas made mock *shiftyeyes*. "Wait," Dean raised his knife and pointed it toward Meg, " _who_ calls it Shared Bed Saturday?" He was getting the hang of her 'from a certain point of view' method of conversation.

She shrugged, "oh, you know, _everyone_."

Dean goggled at Cas who leaned back against the counter sipping his coffee looking utterly unconcerned.

Huh. He added that to the catalog of things he'd learned about Cas from Meg in bed this morning and in the kitchen while Cas showered.

 

***

It had taken Meg's proposal of a threesome with Cas to make Dean realize he was in bed with a girl and he hadn't yet given her his name. Etiquette. He'd introduced himself with, "I'm Dean," automatically offering his hand as if she would shake it, and she'd responded by collapsing into another giggle fit with, "like, before we get up to any kinky shit, we have to properly introduce ourselves." Left with no other choice, he'd smacked her with a pillow. Intermission: pillow fight.

When they were sprawled gasping across the bed after calling a truce, he asked her why it was 'hilarious' that he'd suggested he was Cas' boyfriend. She'd answered matter-of-factly, laying out another set of Cas-related bullet points -

"OK. One, you're wearing boxers, and Cas is, um, _extremely_ fond of nudity in his bed."

"As in?"

She cocked her head again with that you're so slow on the uptake expression. "As in, if you're staying the night in his bed, you're sleeping naked. He sleeps naked. Skin-to-skin is a thing."

"He was wearing pajamas when I came out of the shower last night."

"Well, ok, that was your big clue that he wasn't going to fuck you."

"OK."

"Second, people who have spent the night fucking Cas don't look like this," she made a circling gesture toward his body with her hand.

"What do they look like?"

"Oh, he's kind of bite-y. So, there's that. But, your lips aren't red, you don't have whisker burn anywhere, and, let's face it, third, you were alone when I found you."

"So? He went for a run."

"He neither needs to nor wants to go for a run the morning after."

"OK."

"You ask a lot of questions for such a pretty, pretty boy."

"I'm a detective."

For some reason, Meg thought this hilarious, and Dean guessed after a moment that this whole thing was funny, and they were both giggling again.

And later, after Cas got in the shower, and they'd decided to move to the kitchen to start breakfast or brunch or whatever, he'd asked her why she'd thought his suggestion that she was Cas' girlfriend was hilarious. And she'd told him that she had been, but she was traveling for work so often, and with Cas being a serial monogamist, it just made more sense to just be friends-who-fuck when she comes into town. And he'd asked her how that worked if Cas didn't fuck around on his relationships, and she'd told him they were best friends, and she'd know if he was in a relationship. He'd be talking with her about it. Which was another reason she knew Dean wasn't a serious thing -- she'd never heard of him. Well, she had, but she didn't know his name was Dean. And then he had asked about that, and she had snickered about the nickname she suspected was his, but no matter how he tickled or threatened, he couldn't get more out of her about that. Even after he'd confirmed he was the one Cas had kissed in the alley.

And just before Cas had joined them in the kitchen, he and Meg had been talking about some funny stuff that happened when she was Cas' girlfriend. Cute, almost normal, couple stuff like the Halloween they'd dressed up as predator and prey, or the time they thought it would be really cool and sexy to light his whole loft with candles, but it was summer, and while they were fucking in candlelight, they'd left the ceiling fans on, and then they'd taken a nap, and then a few hours later, everything was spattered with candlewax. He'd had to hire stain removal specialists to come in and clean everything. And so that was still as funny as hell because who knew. 

As she started in on a story about a probably too-young guy she'd brought home to him, Dean interrupted her, "so you weren't fucking with me about the threesome?" Because he'd eventually caught on that she was something of a trickster, and he'd been re-sorting everything she'd said since she crawled into bed with him into "fucking with me" and "not fucking with me" columns. The 'multitasking demon threesome' had been fairly confidently moved to the 'fucking with me' column after he'd learned she was Cas' ex. Now he was moving it back.

"Well, now that I know you a little better, I know you wouldn't be into it, but an hour ago it seemed like a grand idea."

"And Cas, the monogamist, is ok with you bringing men home to him?"

She shrugged, "Cas' women get whatever they want."

"So, how does that work?"

She swiped a spear of bell pepper from his cutting board and he jokingly pretended to go after her grabby hands with his knife, "you know, you should probably ask him that if you're going to keep kissing him."

And then Cas had walked in all damp and relaxed and playful pulling his shirt off and making silly eyeballs.

 

***

While they sat at the breakfast bar and ate Dean's omelettes, Cas asked Meg how long she'd be in town. She'd shrugged and answered at least a month, maybe more. She was being assigned to a developer here and the assignment was 30 days with renewal. She'd been told to expect renewal. He offered her his loft, which led to a moment of Cas-and-Meg-amused-while-Dean-confused (and he'd realized this was going to become a recurring theme if Meg stuck around) until Cas had given in and clarified. That's when Dean learned the other door across the hall from Cas' front door was also a loft, and Cas owned this whole top floor of this building. Which Dean was definitely coming back to later.

"You should come to the Grounds for Murder Halloween party this week! You could meet the customers and check our Charlie and my new place."

"Sounds awesome," she said earnestly, and then hesitated in thought for a moment, "isn't it a little early for Halloween parties?"

"We wanted to have the party for the shop early so everyone could come out and not interfere with their own Halloween plans."

"And _yours_ ," she wagged her eyebrows suggestively at him.

Cas laughed (all the laughing was pretty good, Dean admitted to himself grinning widely at their antics), "and mine," he agreed.

 

Dean politely asked Meg what kind of work she did.

Meg swallowed a bite of her omelette, pleasure at Dean's cooking softening her smile, "Personal security."

Dean nodded and sipped his coffee, "cool."

She quirked an eyebrow (if he were going to keep hanging around these people much longer, he'd have to learn that head-cocking, eyebrow quirking thing) and asked, "you're not going to comment on me being too small for body work?"

"Well, I've already mostly-naked wrestled you, so I know how fast and agile you are." She gave him her best naughty smirk. "So, no. I'm not going to comment because I like my ass un-kicked, thank you very much. And my partner Jo is not that much taller than you, and she kicks major ass on the regular."

"I'd caught that," Cas said softly.

"Yeah," Dean said to his empty plate, "I guess you must have." And then he got up and started clearing dishes into the dishwasher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Date night. Then maybe Destiel smut (IDEK). Then the Grounds for Murder Halloween party. Methinks something about that will irritate Sam.


	16. Using Your Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg moves in across the hall from Cas. Sam, Jess and Dean wrestle and talk. Dean and Cas finally go on their first date.

Meg needed to get her living situation sorted out and check in with her employer, and Dean needed to put himself in front of his brother and sister-in-law. Sam had sent the first text at noon, and then three more since. Did Dean want to watch the game? Did Dean want to get a beer? Did Dean want to see a movie? Dean had responsibilities, even if he'd maybe rather drag Cas back to bed. Or, just a thought, make a reservation, get dressed up, and take Cas to a decent meal like goddamn real boys. A little flirting over coffee, a kiss in an alley, a few text messages, a decent night's sleep, a couple of omelettes, -- it wasn't a relationship, they hadn't even had a real conversation yet. Dean wanted to talk. Sam would be so proud.

Cas was over at the other loft across the hall helping Meg put sheets on the bed or something. She'd said she was short, and it was a two-person job to make up a king-size bed. She'd asked Dean to help, and he'd been halfway to the door with her before Cas waylaid them. "Meg ..."

"You can't blame a girl for trying," she snarked, and threw herself at Dean wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He caught her, being a gentleman and all. She planted a kiss on his mouth that was only about 30% tongue and pulled away with a wet smacking sound. Cas looked on with a fond smile that was only about 30% predatory.

"A little help!?" Dean grunted out, unwinding Meg's limbs and holding her toward Cas who gamely bent his knees a bit and leaned forward from the waist as Dean placed Meg on his back. "Oh, looky!" she snarked, "I'm riding Cas today after all." More laughing. And Cas carried her out the door and across the hall while Dean fiddled with his phone.

While he was on the phone making plans with Sam, there was a knock at the door. Dean opened it without thinking about being in his boxers, but the young man in the khakis and blue polo shirt with Luhrs Tower embroidered on the pocket simply nodded at Dean and passed him yesterday's clothes, now covered in plastic and on hangers, neatly pressed and fresh from the cleaners. Even his socks and underwear had a hanger. Handy.

A few minutes later, Cas was coming in the door, hair mussed and a hickey blooming on his throat. Dean, dressed and armed, and fiddling with his phone, looked up and quirked an eyebrow (heh. He was learning.)

"Don't give me that look," Cas mock-scolded, "if I'd let her talk _you_ into helping, you'd still be over there negotiating the return of your boxers."

"Well, they're your boxers, but I take your point. Speaking of, thanks for the loan," he gestured down to his clothes, "and the laundry. The bed. The beer. A lot of things."

Cas shrugged, "anytime, Dean."

"I need to go see Sam, check in with my family, but ..." Dean met Cas' blue-blue eyes, "any chance you'd be free for dinner tonight? Maybe 8?"

"But, you already made me breakfast, Dean." The two men shared a chuckle.

"Dinner out. Someplace nice. A date. I pick you up and everything."

"I'd like that. Text me, and I'll come down to the sidewalk in front of the lobby."

"Oh, hey, no, I'm not picking you up on the curb. I'll come up to your door and get you."

"I'm nonbinary, Dean, I'm not a woman."

They grinned at each other, and then Dean caught Cas' wrist and brought it to his lips pressing a slow kiss with a scrape of teeth at the pulse point. "Yeah. I'm gonna want to investigate that in detail. Soon."

In a movement that was all slink and sinew, Cas slowly pulled his arm from Dean's grasp and walked backwards never breaking eye contact, "See you at 8, then."

And before he changed his mind and followed Cas back into the loft, Dean turned and headed out the door.

 

***

Dean was sitting at one end of the overstuffed couch in Sam's family room, beer in hand. Jess was sitting at the other end, feet in Dean's lap, also beer in hand. Sammy was sprawled on the floor in front of them sipping a tumbler of Laphroaig.

Which was .. unusual, but if Sam needed a drink, then Sam needed a drink. It's not like Dean could judge.

Jess had started out with softballs, like, how was Solo, and was it time to pick the pomegranates from his trees yet. They made plans for her to come over one night next week, if she wasn't delivering a baby, to pick them together.

She moved on to Jo, how's Jo? And then when he gave her the news about Jo and Cole, Dean was bombarded with questions he doggedly tried to answer. Did Dean like him? Was Jo happy? Was she giving up her apartment? "You should have been the detective," Dean chided her good-naturedly. Her eyes were soft, and he realized in that moment that he'd been set up. Of course he had. Sam was a genius, and Jess was even smarter. They were going to have super-genius-gorgeous babies primed for world domination if she ever took a break from delivering everyone else's.

"How are those kids?" Sam asked, voice low and slow, like he was coaxing Solo out from beneath the bed.

"They're good. Ellen's got them. She and Bobby."

"Good, that's good. They need anything?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't checked in yet today."

"I'll do it," Jess said, tapping something into her phone one-handed, "I need to run out to the shops later anyway." Dean nodded his gratitude at her.

"Where've you been all night if Jo was with Cole, because we went by the house, but you weren't home."

"Christo, Sammy. You're the little brother. I'm the big bad cop."

"We know, Dean, we just wanted to see you" Jess said kindly.

Gods she was good. She had him wrapped around her finger. And he was really happy to be here just now. With her feet in his lap, the baby sister he'd always wanted. Fuck, if she divorced Sam, he knew whose side he was taking.

"I crashed at a friend's."

"Oooh," Jess wagged her eyebrows at him, "anyone we know?"

"It's not like that. I got a decent night's sleep. Slept late. Cooked my famous omelettes. I was even social." He was learning this truth from a certain point of view thing pretty well from Meg. Heh.

"Wait," Sam looked puzzled, "you know how to be social!?"

"Fuck you, Sam! I even have a date tonight!" Shit. These two should be working for the fucking CIA.

Jess launched herself into his arms, pinning him to the couch, and mercilessly tickling his armpits. He did not squeal like a four year old child, no he didn't. But damn, she was wily. He thrashed and thrashed, but she had her weight centered over his breadbasket. With a move he'd learned this morning from Meg, he abruptly stilled and relaxed his body, and that sudden shift in his posture slightly displaced Jess from his center. He seized his opportunity and arched his back hard, bucking her, and then grabbed her, one arm around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head, and then he rolled them both off the couch, pinning her to the floor. He rucked her tank up slightly in the back and madly ticked her over her kidneys. Jess, in fact, did squeal like a four year old.

"Dude, that's my wife!" Sam shouted, faux-offended. And then he tackled Dean, knocking him off Jess. She rolled from beneath him and leapt onto Sam's back. Oh, it was on. Five minutes, six rug burns, two spilt beers, and one cracked tumbler later, the three of them were out-of-breath-huffing-and-giggling, sitting in a row on the floor leaning their backs against the couch. Dean in the middle, Jess and Sam on either side.

Sam patted his leg, "what time you gotta leave to get ready for your big date?"

"Not for a while yet. Maybe 5:30?"

"You want me to come home with you, help you pick out something to wear?" Jess asked innocently, and then the giggling started again. When she caught her breath, "but seriously, you know you're wearing that burgundy Zegna suit we got last year." He'd gone shopping with Jess because Sam wasn't a fan of the mall, and Dean in no way minded hanging around telling Jess which outfits she looked good in (answer: everything) and carrying her ~~bounty~~ shopping bags. She'd seen the Zegna suit and black dress shirt in the window at Barney's during a shoe sortie and insisted he have it. And it _was_ sharp. And it wasn't the money -- he'd been a frugal guy all through his teens and twenties, and he'd gone to university on a full ride scholarship for children of officers killed in the line. He'd lived at home with Bobby and covered extra expenses with a part-time landscaping job. He drove a department car most of the time, and he maintained Baby himself. He was handy, could fix practically anything really, so he did most of the work on his old house. He sure as hell wasn't Sam and Jess with her trust fund and her doctor salary, but he was solid. He covered his bills easily and had a healthy savings account. No, it wasn't the expense. It was himself. Dean had only a handful of occasions a year where he dressed up, and it kind of made him feel a little like he should be doing more with his time. Sam was forever dolling up with Jess and taking her out and about. Seeing the longing expression on his face and knowing it for what it was, Jess had insisted. And after they'd fitted him, he'd had to agree with Jess. It was badass.

"Black shirt, no tie?"

"Obviously."

"You're the best, Jess."

"I know."

***

At 7:45, Dean pulled Baby out of his garage and headed toward Luhrs Towers. He texted Cas when he got down to Central. "Be there in 5. My car is black"

Cas sent back another party hat. Which was pretty fucking amusing.

Dean rolled up low and slow flaunting that his Baby was a sexy ride, but then he almost screwed up the smooth approach when he got a look at Cas standing on the curb and nearly slammed on his brakes. Goddamn.

Cas was standing there, hands in his pockets, sex hair artfully mussed, looking like he'd just stepped out of a photoshoot. He was in a rich blue silk suit cut and tailored to skim closely along the long, lean lines of his frame. A white shirt and narrow deep plum tie completed the look. Dean recovered, and rolled up to the curb and stopped Baby with the passenger side door right in front of Cas. He leaned over and winked at Cas through the window savoring the lust-filled eyes Cas was running over Baby's sexy silhouette. Cas stepped into the car and settled into the passenger seat, running a hand over Baby's dash with a low whistle. "Dean, you've been holding out on me."

They turned to each other in the seat and fell into that easy grinning again. Looking at his face, Dean noticed Cas had satiny-dark grey liner smudged on his upper and lower lashlines. He wore a small titanium stud in either earlobe. As Dean reached out to hold Cas' hand across the bench seat, he noticed the leather and beads had been replaced with a stainless chain bracelet and a bronze cuff that made Dean think celtic.

"I can't tell you how much I want to sit here and stare at you, Cas, but our reservation is at 8:20."

Cas hummed in agreement. Dean was coming to really like that sound. "Where are we headed?"

"How do you feel about Christopher's Crush?"

"Oh! We really are going to prom!"

"Fuck you, Cas."

"Dean," Cas scolded, "it's our first date!"

Dean pulled away from the curb into traffic feeling like his face my stick this way if he kept smiling, but damn he was happy. They looked _good_ , they were going out for some first rate food, and he'd laughed more today than he had in months. Being with Cas was easy.

***  
They ordered small French plates and Portuguese wine and held hands across the table. Together, they caught a lot of desire-filled glances from men and women alike, and Dean was floating above it all. Yeah, he was a little bit vain. He knew he was attractive, he knew Cas was fucking hot, and he felt just fine with every eye in the house admiring him and his date. Just fine.

The conversation was easy. They talked about Meg a little, just surface stuff, Cas had met her at a benefit thing she was working, but he still managed to pass her his number. They talked about Jo, Cas hadn't met her yet, but he'd heard a lot about her from Becky. Dean told a funny story about how Jo and Cole met when she was playing pool in a sketchy bar and some guy got aggressive with her and she kicked his ass. Cole proposed on the spot and she'd told him to buy her a drink instead. They'd hooked up in his SUV in the parking lot. Then they traded stories about car sex and parking lot sex. When they finished their meal, Dean asked Cas if he wanted another bottle of wine. Cas looked like he wanted to say yes, but then he mentioned that Dean was driving. Dean told him he'd only picked him up in the sexy car, and he'd made arrangements with his brother and sister-in-law to pick up his car and take it to his home. In fact, he checked the screen on his phone and then put it back into his pocket, they'd already taken care of it. Dean's plans had them cabbing the rest of the night. Cas said he was grateful for the opportunity to ride in Baby. And then Dean signed the check and asked the waiter to reseat them at a quiet table in the corner of the bar.

When their wine arrived and had been poured, Dean looked at Cas across the table, eyes lingering on his graceful wrists, noticing the sapphire cufflinks. Cas was an interesting study in casual self assurance and close attention to detail. Or maybe that wasn't a dichotomy -- maybe the presence of one informed the other. "So," Dean asked clinking his glass to Cas', "want to do the personal stuff talk?" He watched Cas' throat contract as he swallowed. Goddamn.

"Um, sure. Want to do it like questions?"

"Yeah, but you start."

"OK," Cas said as he fingered the corner of the cocktail napkin beneath his glass of water and Dean thought that Cas had to be drawing attention to his fingers on purpose, "boxers don't hide much, so I know you liked Meg, but are you gay?"

"Bi," Dean said. "But, if we're being honest, I've had a lot of sex with women. I've traded blow jobs and handjobs with men, and looking at your sexy hands right now, I'm reminded that I'm enthusiastically pro-fingers, but there are a few things left on my dance card I'd like to try."

Cas' eyes shaded a darker blue as he let his interest in that bit of information heat his eyes.

"My turn," Dean told him. "I know what pan is, like, I went to college, and I've seen some good tumblrs and whatever, but what does it mean to you?"

"Um. I like sex, and I like people. I've been with different people, and I'm less interested in gender or gender identity or biology or performativity than I am the sexual experience with the person."

"So, like you don't care if they're trans or female or gay or whatever."

"Sure. All of that. Lots of others too."

"OK, describe someone you're attracted to that would surprise me."

Cas laughed out loud at that. And smirked across the table at Dean, "are you sure you want to hear that? "

Oh, now Dean was sure, "absolutely, Spill, Gorgeous."

Cas huffed. "So, the Book Biddies?" Dean nodded so Cas would continue, "María is my current girl crush."

"The one with the long dark hair with the silver streak along her part? She's what 50-ish?" Dean asked taking another sip of wine.

"That's her and she's 54. She's a retired structural engineer. Her husband passed two years ago, and she does some international relief work now."

Dean thought about María for a moment, "I can see that." he nodded.

"It's OK if you can't."

"No, I do get it, if I think about it. But I have to think about it because I think I'm used to, like, the distinguished gentleman thing, like everyone wants George Clooney."

"Well, since we're being honest, I'd take George Clooney too."

"Wouldn't we all?"

"But no, I get it, like I have some really treasured fantasies about Famke Janssen and, also, Monica Bellucci. Ooh! Famke Janssen _with_ Monica Bellucci deserves some serious contemplation."

"Dean!" Cas laughed and then topped off Dean's glass of wine.

Dean raised his hands in surrender, "OK, but liking a beautiful older woman doesn't make you pan, like, at all. Maybe an opportunist sugar baby thing but not pan..."

"No, it doesn't, but you asked about surprising you. So Maria was an answer to a different question. Besides, it's my turn. You haven't really reacted to my nonbinary identity. So, you're good with all of that?"

Dean shrugged. "I like you. I like looking at you, and by that I mean, your face, your body, and the few different ways I've seen you present yourself. I like talking with you. But we've hardly spent any time together, and I'm sure there's so much more to you, and I want to know it all. But, like, you should know too. I'm not a cop because I'm an authoritarian person, or anything. My dad was like that, and my relationship with him was ... tough. I have a hard time obeying rules, and I'm no fan of authority or institutions. But I like helping people and fixing things. And with my job, I can help a lot of people and fix a lot of things. And I can maybe, if I'm lucky, have a few opportunities to put my body between the oppressor and the oppressed. So, yeah. Gender and the expectations that go with it have little practical value to me. I guess I'm probably fairly strongly gendered male because of my dad and how I grew up, but my mom is a badass. Jo is a badass. My sister-in-law is a badass. And I don't mean the only way to define subversive women is badass, because that would suck too. Just that I already like a bunch of people who say fuck you to gender bullshit. And I was a second parent to Sam since he was maybe 10. And god, Sam, clearly I did something right. So, like, I don't need you to be anything more than just you to make myself feel like a man. Wow that was a lot of words." Dean stopped and busied himself moving his wine glass around on the table.

"You mean like those kids," Cas said taking Dean's hand, "you sheltered those kids from the press."

"Yeah. That was some bullshit. My turn now. Did you always know you were pan?"

Cas took the change of subject gracefully, and decided to offer something personal of his own in a possibly misguided show of solidarity. "I grew into pansexuality, is the only way I can describe it. Which, I guess is a thing you should know about me since we're sharing. I deeply enjoy my senses. I very much like touching, tasting, listening, feeling, smelling. I need it. I live to experience my senses. And I've always been this way. I'm a deeply sexual person, and then I guess, the two things about me sort of come together. I was attracted to girls first and my father found me in bed with my best friend Jewel when I was not quite 13, I think? She was a few months older."

"Seriously? OK, now you have to tell me what you were doing with Jewel. Was she blowing you?"

Cas laughed. "No. I was going down on her. And I loved it. Still do, actually."

"Goddam right. I totally almost gave in when Meg offered to sit on my face."

Cas was laughing again. And it was a good look, Dean thought. Crinkled eyes, a lot of teeth, head tilted back, eyes glowing from more than enough wine. "Meg is delightfully direct."

"That she is. So, after Jewel, then what?" Dean added more wine to Cas' glass, and the host sent over a plate of bread, soft cheese, almonds and olives. Dean decided it was because he wasn't the only one who was enjoying watching Cas enjoy himself. Cas just wore his pleasure so well.

"Oh, the parents. Deeply religious and utterly consternated. I wrote poetry, my eyelashes were too long, I was too graceful and not boy enough, and I was unwilling to hide the hickies, or the condoms, or whatever else suggested I was having sex. They threw me out when I was 18, but they couldn't cut me off because the money comes through my grandfather's family, and he may not have understood me exactly, but he identified with a nonconformist. We were kindred like that. I didn't understand I was attracted to men or how to act on it until my freshman year at USC when I met an international student from the UK. We had some fun. We're still friends. Oh ... and then I guess things just grew from there. The more I explored, the more I found I liked. Until I realized what I said earlier that it's the sexual experience and the sensory experience that gets me off."

"I don't know if I'm impressed or jealous, Cas. I'm sorry about your parents though."

"It's fine. I'm over it. I have Charlie, Meg, Balthazar, Kevin, Zach, Becky, so many more people. Family is what you make it."

"Damned straight," Dean said thinking affectionately of Jo and Jess. "But, so, isn't a police detective from Mainstream, USA just really too conventional or stereotypical for you? I feel kind of normal."

"Normal is a complicated word. That's probably a very long and developing discussion. But I'll admit the initial attraction is that you're very pretty. Your full mouth and long eyelashes speak to a lush sensuality that is juxtaposed against your sharp cheekbones and straight nose. Your freckles add levity to the masculine set of your jaw. On the sum of things, you're a study in balance and contradiction. But the soft vulnerability that flickers through your expressions tips your right over into pretty. You're very pretty. You're also beautiful. And your beauty caught my eye. And then you hung in there with Kevin when he was trying to be my wingman and, as Kevin is wont to do, he was running the gamut of awkward and overt. I basically came for the pretty and stayed for the intelligence and dauntlessness."

"You came?" Dean quirked his eyebrow. He was getting good at this.

"Many times. In the shower. That's what you got out of all of that, Pervert?"

"I own that. And no, I heard you. And your words sliced right through my chest and settled somewhere around my crotch. And I'm blushing and squishy inside, so yeah, I'm gonna make a dirty joke and maybe imagine your o-face because I'm shallow like that. I think it's your turn."

"Hmmm. Fascinating. I may have to come back to that later. Why didn't you fuck Meg?"

"At first, I didn't know what was going on, I mean, I was asleep, but then, I think I was just having so much fun playing her game. Once I realized that it was a game and she was outplaying me. And then I liked her. Don't get me wrong. She's hot and she seems like she'd be a great fuck. But, and maybe she told you this, we spent some time lying in your bed commiserating over how we both wished we were fucking you. We bonded. My turn." Dean tossed back a few almonds.

"Speaking of Meg, she said I should ask you why she fucks around and you don't. She said your women get what they want."

"Of course we'd try to have a political conversation when I'm drunk!" Cas groaned.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Feminism," Cas replied, as if that answered everything, "once I fully realized just how much women wrangle, control, conform, and basically maim their sexuality to fit into the box they're supposed to occupy, I decided I couldn't do that. I don't set expectations on the women in my life because I'm not entitled to. I like to please one partner, and I like them to have what they like. And I'm drunk so I don't know if that makes sense."

"I think it does. I think I have to think about it and I may need you to answer some more questions when we're sober, if you don't mind teaching, because I saw on the website that this is your phd, and now I kind of want to call you Dr Cas. But not doc. Just Dr Castiel. That's hot. I think it's your turn. Take your turn now before I go totally off the rails here and jump up onto this table shouting, 'doctor! doctor! I think I have an emergency in my pants!' So, your turn, Cas!"

"Dean, take me to bed?"

"Mine or yours?"

"Which do you want?"

"I like your sheets," Dean told him, and then he signaled the server to bring their check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas' suit is from the 2016 Tom Ford Bond capsule wardrobe. Cas' jewelry is David Yurman. I think we all know the burgundy suit that Dean wears, but if you don't, Google is now your best friend. Go forth and google that. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger but it's 2am here, and I got a better offer ;)


	17. Lust is a Four Letter Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little first date smut with bossy!Cas.

While Cas and Dean waited for their check to arrive and the valet to let them know their cab had arrived, they sat across from each other just taking in the view. The moody bar lighting, Cas thought, was doing lovely things for the gingery highlights in Dean's hair. "Dean, will you let me pay for the wine?"

"Nope."

Cas looked like he was going to add something, but Dean headed him off, "you can get it next time."

"I'm very glad you are in favor of a next time."

"Babe, I am  _firmly_ in the camp of next time."

"I can't decide if I'm more distracted by your _firmness_ or by you calling me 'babe'."  
  
Dean threw Cas a lascivious grin and let his eyes travel slowly down Cas' torso and back up to his face, "Babe, I'm not trying to be subtle."  
  
Cas took the last swallow of wine in his glass, and then slowly licked a drop of wine from his lower lip.   
  
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but stopped at the approach of an attractive forty-something woman in a black sheath dress, a chunky gold necklace, and a slightly older man in a white chef's jacket. "Detective Winchester?" she asked in a rich alto.

Dean reached across the table and took Cas' hand again, resting their intertwined fingers on the tabletop. "I'm Dean Winchester," he replied without inflection. Police officers are public employees, and even when they're off duty, they're expected to behave professionally and patiently with the citizenry. But while professionalism was a necessity, Detective Winchester was off duty; _Dean Winchester_ was on a very hot date, that he was hoping was going to get even hotter, and he wasn't above dropping a less-than-subtle-hint.

"Detective Winchester, I'm Ellen Morgan, I am the manager this evening, and this is Colin, your chef tonight. On behalf of our entire staff, we wanted to thank you for your commitment to the citizens of Phoenix, particularly the children of our community."

(Huh. Everyone has seen the news.)  
  
A blush rose on Dean's cheeks, "It is my honor to serve, ma'am."  Cas squeezed his hand.

"Detective, I spoke to your server earlier, and was able to locate your check. We've returned the charge to your credit card. A car from our service is waiting outside to take you wherever you want to go."

"I really appreciate that, Ms --"  
  
"Ellen, please."

"I really appreciate that, Ellen. But I can't accept. Police officers don't accept gifts."

Ellen nodded once and then turned to Cas, extending her hand, "hello. I'm Ellen Morgan, I'm the manager this evening, and this is Colin, your chef tonight."

Cas released Dean's hand and took hers, "It is nice to meet you, Ellen, Chef Colin, I'm Castiel Novak, I'm a friend of Dean's."  
  
She smiled warmly, "and did you enjoy your evening, Mr Novak?"

"I did, Ellen, thank you. And thank you for the exceptional meal, Chef Colin." Chef Colin nodded.

"And what brings you to Christopher's Crush tonight, Mr Novak? Are you celebrating something?"  
  
Castiel smiled warmly at Dean, caught his hand on the table and squeezed it. "Tonight is our first date."  
  
Chef Colin spoke for the first time, "You didn't order dessert, Mr Novak. Please allow me to pack you some to take with you for your celebration," and the chef turned and walked back toward the kitchen.  
  
"Mr Novak, congratulations on your first date! I feel very fortunate to have hosted this very small reception for you tonight to commemorate this lovely milestone. My car service is waiting outside to take you home." Her face remained professional, but her eyes twinkled in the low bar lights.

Cas laughed out loud, "that's very charming. Thank you. I am grateful for your generosity and your excellent hosting abilities."  
  
"Cas ..." Dean said. But his tone was good-natured. What was it with people outsmarting him today? These two had him beat in two ways, 1) he had no say in any gifts Cas accepted and 2) even if he did, receptions, parties and celebrations for private events were not against the rules anyway. 

Cas squeezed Dean's hand again and Ellen lowered her voice, "please, Mr Novak, Detective Winchester," we are awfully fond of you here.  
  
"Well, thank you, Ellen. Thank you so much. You're too kind. I'll be sure to bring Cas back here on our next anniversary."  
  
Ellen grinned broadly as Cas' eyes went wide.  
  
"Don't panic Cas. I'm not trying to tie you down. I like anniversaries. We can celebrate one every day if we want to."  
  
"I didn't know you were such a romantic."  
  
"He must be if he brought you to our establishment tonight," Ellen laughed. "And thank you for that. Please come back any time. We are so happy to have you."  
  
"Thank you again, Ellen."  
  
"Yes, thank you so much."

And with that, a young man in a server's uniform approached and handed Ellen a bag. She passed it to Cas, who took it with another whispered thank you, "for your dessert tonight," Ellen said. "It was nice meeting you Castiel. Detective Winchester. Please come again." And Ellen turned and walked back toward the kitchen. "If you'll come this way," the young man added, "we'll get you into your car."   
  
  
***

Dean wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulders, and he and Cas sat pressed together shoulders to calves in the back seat of the Audi A8.   
  
"You're trouble," Dean told Cas who made innocent noises.  
  
"You know I'm still going to have to tell my lieutenant about you and Ms Ellen."  
  
"Of course. And I promise that I will never do that again."  
  
"It's nothing, Cas. Don't worry about it."  
  
"I don't ever worry, Dean. And it can make me sometimes impulsive. I'm not worried, and I'm not sorry, but I wont do it again either."  
  
Dean leaned his head to the right and bumped Cas' head softly. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments.

And then Cas reached across Dean with his right hand to capture Dean's left. He brought Dean's hand up to his lips, and very slowly, licked Dean's middle finger and then sucked it into his mouth,"mmmmmmm," Cas hummed.  
  
Dean moaned softly. He flicked his eyes toward the driver in the front seat, but Cas just gave him a tiny smile around his finger, nipped its pad with his teeth, then released it only to suck Dean's entire index finger to its base into his mouth. Dean gasped and shifted in his seat. "Cas..."  
  
Cas released Dean's finger and nipped the soft flesh between Dean's index finger and thumb, then he placed Dean's hand on his own thigh and patted it gently, "yes, Dean?"  
  
"You are very distracting."  
  
"Good because that is my intention." And then Cas turned his head into Dean neck and snuggled close to his ear, "I am going to taste so much more of you," and he sucked Dean's earlobe gently and then bit down. He placed another soft bite below Dean's ear, and yet another on the tendon below that, sucking firmly and then whispering again, "you are delicious."  
  
Dean's voice caught and he swallowed and tried again, "is this what Meg meant when she said you were 'kind of bitey'?"

Cas laughed low and predatory, "No, Dean. This is not what she meant." And then he nosed Dean's collar out of the way and placed another lick, soft bite, and sucking kiss at the point where Dean's neck met his shoulder. Dean shuddered and caught Cas' jaw in his hand and closed his mouth over Cas' in a searing kiss. And then Dean shifted back in his seat sighing softly. They were pulling up to the Cas' lobby.  
  
Cas slipped out of the car and reached back for Dean's hand. The driver politely declined Dean's tip, and Dean was left with nothing to do but accept Cas' help out of the car. The two men walked in silence hand in hand through Cas' lobby, into the elevator, and rode the fourteen floors up to Cas' flat. Silently, Cas led Dean through his home and then to a door Dean hadn't yet explored that was next to the bathroom. Cas opened it to reveal a closet that was the size of Dean's guest room. Cas' clothes and shoes took up very little space and made the closet seem even larger. "We're hanging our clothes up?" Dean asked amusement coloring his voice as he recalled Cas and Meg's banter about leaving clothes on the floor.  
  
Cas raised his hands and caught Dean's lapels gently pulling him closer until their chests were almost but not quite touching. "I like your suit very much. You are very sexy in this color. And the fit of your shirt over your chest has inspired many dirty thoughts tonight - some of them were even mine." Dean laughed.   
  
"Cocky is a good look on you, Dean." Cas smoothed his hands down the front of Dean's chest, paused briefly to give Dean's hips a little squeeze, and then ran his hands around Dean's waist and down to the curve of his ass where he gripped Dean in two firm handfuls and pulled him flush against Cas' body. Dean's eyes jumped to Cas' when he felt Cas' erection hard against his hip.  
  
"As I was saying, you look very nice this evening. And I am _highly_ motivated to help you take good care of this suit."  And then he released Dean, took a small step back and slipped his hands beneath Dean's jacket to slide it off his shoulders. Breathless, Dean turned his body and let Cas remove the jacket and watched him carefully hang it from an empty rail in the closet. Cas tugged Dean's shirt releasing its hem from Dean's pants, and then he unbuttoned it, and hung it next to the jacket. He caught Dean's hips again and pushed him backwards slowly until his ass came in contact with a shelf, "lean here a moment, please." Dean knowing a good deal when he saw one did as he was told.  
  
Efficiently, Cas removed his jacket and hung it next to a black one from the rail that seemed to be designated for Cas' suits. He expertly slipped out his cufflinks, opened a drawer, and dropped them into a divided compartment. He stepped out of his shoes, and Dean's eyes narrowed as Cas bent from the waist (yoga?), picked up the shoes and placed them on a rack next to another pair of shoes. Then he removed his belt and hung it on a belt rack. His pants and socks followed, with the pants placed on a hanger and the socks tossed into a hamper. And then Cas turned back to Dean in only black boxer briefs, shameless and perfect.

He dropped in an easy crouch at Dean's feet and Dean's mouth went dry. He removed Dean's shoes and socks, tossing the socks into the hamper after his own and placing Dean's shoes on an empty shoe rack. From his position on the floor he looked up at Dean and smiled softly. "You look very nice like this as well." Then he removed Dean's belt and placed it on the floor, and unbuttoned and unzipped Dean's pants. Cas' hands were back on Dean's hips, smoothing over them, and then he slipped them beneath the elastic of Dean's underwear and removed both underwear and pants in one motion eyes darkening as they fixed on Dean's bare cock for the first time. "Don't move," Cas said as he placed a soft kiss on Dean's inner thigh. Cas stool up, turned and hung Dean's belt and pants and tossed Dean's underwear into the hamper. "Hmm. I like your clothes hanging in my closet."  
  
Dean straightened his back to move into him to express his appreciation, but Cas turned around and pressed him back against the shelf, "I told you not to move." And then he again dropped down on his knees in front of Dean and took Dean's cock fully into his mouth. Dean gasped in surprise.  
  
Cas hummed at the warmth of Dean's body and the musky scent of his skin. With a flick of his tongue over the head of Dean's cock, dipping into the slit, he hummed again at the faintly bitter taste. Dean shuddered and released a soft moan. "Cas?"  
  
"Hmmmmm?" Cas asked and licked a firm stripe up the heavy vein along the back of his cock before taking it back into his mouth and sucking firmly.  
  
Dean's legs stuttered then steadied again. "Are we going to do this in the closet?"  
  
Cas pulled his mouth away in a lurid wet pop and said in a low growl, "yes," and then returned to sucking the head of Dean's cock, rolling it around on his tongue and with just the slightlest scrape of teeth.

"Cas?" Dean gasped.

Cas pulled off Dean again, but this time grasping Dean in his hand and pumping him lazily. He looked up at Dean and said, "Didn't Meg tell you that I get what I want?"

Dean swallowed hard at the dark-as-midnight-blue eyes filled with lust and tinged with aggression looking up at him from the beautiful face of the man kneeling at his feet. "She ... she said your women get what they want."  
  
Cas chuckled darkly, "that they do. But that just helps facilitate the fact that I always get what I want. And I told you in the car that you are delicious, and that I would be tasting you." And with that, Cas caught Dean's hands and placed them on his own head. Then a sweet and gentle kiss at the tip of Dean's cock where he hesitated just a moment for another tongue flick at the slit, drawing another luscious gasp from Dean. And then Cas sucked Dean deeply into his mouth, rising up on his knees and angling his head to take Dean into his throat.  
  
All Dean could do at that moment was hang on. He tighten his hands in Cas' hair and earned himself another hum of approval that vibrated straight through to his spine. Cas hollowed his cheeks and pulled harder and Dean felt the flutter as he hit Cas' throat. He tugged Cas' hair in warning, "Cas ... close," and Cas tightened his hands on Dean's hips and pulled, and that was going to leave some marks. 

And then Dean's vision whited out as he came with a shout throwing back his head and letting the dizzying fall engulf him reveling in the feel of a warm wet mouth as Cas brought him slowly down. As Dean caught his breath and came back to himself, Cas placed soft warm kisses on his thighs, his knees, his hip bones, and low on his stomach. And then, Cas rose gracefully, caught Dean's hand and lead him out the door. "Come on. I've heard you enjoy my shower, and there are a few things I want to do in there."   
  
"Babe?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Are you going to ask me what I want?"

"No, Dean. Not at all. Not even once. Not tonight."

"Awesome."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like a good bossy!date. But I like being bossy!girl even better. ;)


	18. Kink is a Four Letter Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the date. Sam gets flustered. Sam gets pissy. Halloween party shenanigans. Sam gets *really* pissy.

When Cas pulled Dean into the bathroom, Dean noticed the toothbrush he'd used in a holder next to one of Cas' dual sinks. That was new. (Cas' electric toothbrush was where it had been the first time Dean had been in this bathroom, over next to the other sink.) He looked at 'his' toothbrush and then looked at Cas who shrugged, "housekeeping. I take pretty good care of my place but they come in on Saturday afternoons to do bathrooms and floors and dusting that needs a ladder. They find places for things I happen to leave out, like shoes ... and toothbrushes."

"Huh. I meant to ask," Dean said pointing to Cas' electric toothbrush holder that contained two separate brushes.

"Charlie," Cas smiled warmly, "she keeps a few things here, and I have some of my things at her house."

Dean tugged the waistband of Cas' boxer briefs letting the elastic snap back softly, "I want to get to know her, Babe."

"She'd like that a lot." Cas gestured to the door of the water closet, "I'll be in there a minute; feel free to snoop around in the cupboards if you like."

Dean brushed his teeth with his own toothbrush and was sifting through a drawer of neatly organized first aid supplies when Cas reappeared. "Burns and cuts from the cafe and bugbites from running," Cas offered. And then he moved to his sink to brush his own teeth while Dean took care of his own bathroom business.

When Dean opened the door, Cas was naked and adjusting the shower controls. Dean took in the compelling view of a firm runner's' ass and strong, supple legs noting the twin dimples at the base of his spine and a small tattoo on his thigh. Thinking back to the alley and the cab and Meg’s comments about nudity, "You're kind of an exhibitionist, Cas?"

"And you're not. I'm sorry about the car driver. Like I said, I don't worry and I'm sometimes impulsive. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't. Or, that's not it. An alley at a street fair is my kind of audience -- a lot of them are putting on their own production. And they can move along if they don't like what they're seeing. But the driver is just doing his job. And he's a professional. He can't just pull over and get out if he doesn't want a show while he's working."

"That's ... thoughtful and kind."

"Eh, it's just timing. Speaking of timing, now that we're alone, are you going to show me this bitey thing Meg mentioned?"

Cas met Dean's gaze, eyes sparkling with mirth and that deep blue shimmer that prickled at the edges of Dean’s fight or flight response, "That is not really a first date kind of kink, Dean."

"Mmm, so you have enough of these kinks that you have a classification system for them?" Dean counted, this was what, the third(?) Castiel classification system he'd trundled into.

"And you don't?" his murmur was all layers of heat and suggestion as he pulled Dean into the shower under the falling water and sucked gently on his jaw.

"Mmmmm. Not really. Unless you count whipped cream and pie, but, like everyone has that one."

Cas hummed in agreement and leaned back against the shower wall to look Dean over. "Just the one? … Really?" his eyes crinking.

"Well ... I guess if you tell me one of yours, I'll tell you about a new one I seem to be developing."

Cas reached up onto a small shower shelf and pulled down a pink sea creature looking thing and tossed it to Dean who caught it asking, "what's this?"

"It's a pouf. It makes appealing bubbles when you use it to wash yourself."

Dean studied the bright pink mesh spongy thing in his hand, "and this relates to our conversation how?"

"I like to watch, Dean."

"And ... ?"

"You're going to wash yourself. _Very_ slowly. And _very_ thoroughly. And I'm going to watch." Cas stretched out languidly on the shower bench and took himself in hand, jacking lazily. "Now .. your turn. Tell me about this, how did you put it, developing kink."

Dean stared again at the pouf in his hand and at the utterly devastating stretch of tanned skin, legs akimbo stretched out before him. Gods. He opened his mouth and tilted his head back to let the water flow over his face. He swallowed some of the water pouring through his open mouth as he felt the full weight of Cas' dark gaze. "Um. OK." Dean chuckled, not uncomfortable, just a little vulnerable. "I've um ... the way you move. The way you sit and stare and stretch, all comfortable and easy-like. You sometimesremindmeofacat."

"Hmmm. Like a fluffy little housekitten?" Slow eye blink and a lick of plush lips.

Dean cleared his throat, “No.”

“No?” Cas asked still slow and easy, every stroke pulling from the base of his cock to the tip where he’d roll his thumb with a twist of his wrist, then back down again. So hot, Dean had to remind himself to breathe.

"Yeah, no. Like a ... like the sexy jungle leopard hanging off a tree limb all pretty and sleepy one minute and then just eating your throat for lunch the next."

Cas growled low, "soap, Dean," as he shifted on the bench to spread his legs further.

And Dean did as he was told, adding a couple of squirts of ginger-grapefruit soap to his pink pouf because if you're gonna go fluffy, you may as well go the whole way. "Mmmm. My Sexy-Cat-Cas."

Cas looked back at him, eyes slitted, pupils black, and blinked slowly. "Start at the top, Dean. And work your way down," Cas purred and Dean smiled to himself, put his hand on the little up arrow, and raised the temperature of the water.

“You gonna get off watching me, Cas?” And he scrubbed the pouf slowly and thoroughly across his chest leaving a generous layer of bubbles running trails down his stomach.

“Yes. But you skipped washing your hair, so now you have to start over.”

***

  
Sunday mid-morning, Dean’s phone began playing “This is How We Do,” by Katy Perry.

He was lying on his back with his hands twisted into Cas’ wood headboard, body stretched out, while Cas was lying between his legs beneath the sheets making a very close and personal study of Dean’s hipbones.

“Don’t answer that,” Cas murmured into the concave slope below Dean’s hipbone that he was slowly licking, tongue flat and a bit of tooth. 

“Unnhh … have..to. ‘ts Jess.”

Cas grunted and nipped the tender skin beneath his tongue and then moved over to begin tonguing Dean’s other hip. He’d been rubbing gentle circles with his fingers on Dean’s inner thigh, but when Dean confirmed he intended to take the call, Cas curled his fingers to press and rub two knuckles against his perineum. Dean let out a soft ‘ooof’ as the call connected.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sam.” Deen inhaled abruptly as Cas bit down on his hipbone and sucked firmly.

“You ok?”

“Yeah …”

“Jess wants to know if you want to go to brunch. She wants to hear about your date, but she made me,” --ow! Sam complained as Dean heard the sound of Jess’ palm connecting with Sam’s arm -- “Jess made me call and ask so she didn’t seem too nosy.”

“Um hm. Tell her thanks, but I’m gonna -- “ and Dean panted softly as Cas circled his knuckles more firmly as he eased the sucking pressure on Dean’s hipbone and began laving the reddening bruise with his tongue. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Dean are you with someone now!?” Sam’s voice pitched up half an octave and Jess giggled in the background.

“Hmm? No.” A low sigh.

“Dude, you are. Gross! Why did you even pick up!?”

Dean squeezed his thighs together in a warning to Cas who just snickered and slid down to begin mouthing Dean’s balls. “Pfffth. Thought you were Jess.”

“And that helps you how!? You’re in bed with someone and you think like hey, I’ll just have a chat with my sister-in-law. That will be perfectly fine and not perverted or kinky or weird at all.” Sam was halfway to shouting and Jess sounded like she was going to fall off her chair or pee her designer jeans or something she was laughing so hard.

“Just.. bye.” And Dean clicked off the call.

Cas lifted the sheet from his head and smiled innocently at Dean whose eyes darkened and breath caught in his throat as he stared at the pretty picture of Cas face framed between his thighs. “C’mere.”

***

 

Dean’s week was a blur. He started early Monday processing the canvass interviews and helping fill out the background on the family. He and Jo spent a lot of time on the phone and a lot more time making in-person chats and appointments. There were records requests to file and even though they’d been assigned a PA to help keep the computer files in order, it was an uphill battle with the amount of information they were compiling and with six detectives on the project.

The surviving aunt was still in a coma, and the medical examiner and labs were still working on the victims. Dean was grateful for the small favor of not having to go down to the morgue to check in on lab and autopsy progress of a teenage girl killed by her own father. He’d take running his own personal interview mill any day.

He texted Cas a couple of times a day and went home to his own bed at night to collapse in dream-inflected sleep. By Wednesday afternoon, they were getting their arms around the massive amount of information and the flood of calls from the public. They had a system, they had order, and they had the upper hand. They were a well-oiled machine with Bobby riding herd on the media and the higher ups.

He said as much to Cas in a late-afternoon text, and Cas responded asking the last time Dean’d had a non-working meal. Yeah, that was back on Sunday morning when they’d eaten Saturday night’s dessert off each other’s skin. Dean has saved that memory in his mental lockbox for posterity. Cas said not to worry, that the laundry service could remove the blackberry stains, and Dean didn’t ask him how he knew that. Right, non-working meal, focus. Dean had reminded Cas of Sunday morning, and Cas had responded that Dean should come to his place after work. He could park Baby in the underground, secure garage in one of Cas’ spaces -- Cas had cleared Baby through the security system so he could come and go as he pleased.

Dean was worried he wouldn’t be very good company yet, and Cas said he didn’t want good company. He wanted to eat pasta with his friend and then get a decent night’s sleep. Dean told him he could make that work.

When Dean arrived after 7PM tired and honestly fried, Cas was in the kitchen in shorts and another UC Davis t-shirt. There was a bowl of garlic bread on the counter, along with two cans of San Tan beer. Cas told him to go find something more comfortable to wear, and he could even take a quick shower if he wanted, the roasted broccoli would need a few more minutes. When Dean opened Cas’ closet to rack his shoes (because Cas is neat and Dean is neat, so they can be neat together), he was surprised to discover that next to his suit from Saturday (why had he left it again?) were hanging a couple of pairs of jeans, a couple of button down shirts, and a waxed canvas jacket -- all in his sizes.

Dean left his shoes on the rack, stripped off his clothes and tossed them into the hamper, and then walked naked to the shower where he used _his_ pouf and more of the ginger-grapefruit body wash (not soap, tyvm) because that stuff was nice. Then he dried himself off and pulled on a pair of Cas’ boxers and headed into the kitchen.

Cas’ eyes narrowed when Dean walked in naked from the waist up. “We’re eating and then _resting_ , Dean.”

“Blame Meg if it bothers you, she’s the one who told me that your house rules encourage nudity.”

“And I’ve very glad she did.”

“So, Cas, you got me clothes?”

“So you can stay here and let me help you for a couple of days.”

“I’m fine, Cas.”

“Of course you are.”

“And you’ve obviously got more money than I have, but I can afford my own clothes.”

“Of course you can.”

“Seriously, Cas.”

“I know, Dean. I have seen you in that Zegna suit. I studied it closely. In detail. For an extended period of time.”

“I just” and he sighed and then lifted his chin, “I just don’t need you to think you have to take care of me.”

“Dean, you don’t need anyone to take care of you. You’re very good at taking care of yourself and the people around you. It’s admirable.”

“OK. So why are you taking care of me?”

“I’m not. I’m helping. Because you’re my friend.”

Dean circled around to Cas’ side of the counter, picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the vodka sauce Cas had made. It smelled amazing. “We’re friends?”

Cas laughed, and it was that warm honey laugh that trickled down Dean’s spine and worked its way under his skin. “We’re _at least_ friends. But we are friends. And whatever else we decide to be, we will always be friends.”

Cas dropped the fresh angel hair into the boiling water and stirred it once, let it bubble up, and then reduced the heat to a vigorous simmer.

“Are we friends who fuck?”

“Tonight we’re friends who eat pasta and get some sleep,” said Cas as he drained the pasta and into a colander in the sink and pulled a baking sheet of roasted broccoli out of the oven.

“Can I be the friend who doesn’t eat broccoli?” Dean asked cheekily.

“No.”

***

 

Cas was busy all day Friday setting up for the Grounds for Murder early Halloween party that began at 1PM and ended when the shop closed at 7PM. And Dean was busy at work. He and Jo were downshifting on the murder case and getting largely back to their other cases, so there were ends to tie up (tie down? new #kink to try out), but things were smoothing out.

At 3PM Dean’s phone ran with Sam’s ringtone, and Dean picked up, “Sammy!”

“Dean, you’ve got to get down here!”

“What’s wrong?!” Dean’s attention snapped from his laptop screen to his brother’s voice.

“It’s these coffee shop lunatics. You have to get down here. They’re basically causing a riot and everything's a mess.”

“Sam …”

“Dean, I’m serious. If you don’t get down here and do something with this goth guy, elf girl, and dandy kid, I’m going to take their heads and stake them out in front of my restaurant as a warning to all who might cross me. I mean it, Dean. I’m still a lawyer. These guys are a disaster, and no jury in the state would convict me.”

Dean tried and almost succeeded in stifling his laughter.

“Dean! I’m serious!”

Well, it was 3PM and he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He’d intended to head over to Cas’ after 5PM and catch the end of the party, but they’d logged a ton of hours this week and things were winding down. He looked over at Jo who was listening on in amusement, and she nodded her head at him and motioned that things were wrapping up on her desk too. OK. They’d been on since 6AM, so, they’d call it a day.

“OK, Sam. Jo and I will be there in 15 minutes.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

 

***

Jo and Dean parked in a lot around the corner and walked down the block to Taylor Place. As they got closer to Sammiches and Grounds for Murder, Jo’s face lit up in delight. All the floor-to-ceiling windows of GfM were lit up with orange twinkle lights. Sheet ghosts hung from wires in the ceiling. The sidewalk in front of GfM appeared to be set up for a few party-type games and people were milling about in some pretty good-looking costumes. Dean saw a Han Solo (he’d have to tell his cat) and Chewbaca with a Minion and a slice of pizza. The pizza slice was holding hands with a rat, and Dean laughed at a remembered internet viral video of a rat with a slice of pizza.

As he and Jo got closer, Dean saw that one of the games involved a tabletop trebuchet. Kevin was using it to launch donut holes at a line of costumed people who were trying to catch the holes in their mouths. Several faces and chests were covered in powdered sugar and chocolate glaze. There was a lot of cheering. Jo laughed a full belly laugh as a Dr Sexy took a powdered sugar donut hole square in the nose.

Another group was playing Twister, and since they were caffeinated college students, it wasn’t a strictly PG game. Some of the players were missing shirts, shoes, and pants. Which, well, he’d come back to that later.

Another group was bobbing for apples, which is never harmless family fun, and who ever even thought it would be? But in this case, all the bobbers had their hands tied behind their backs with neckties. A few bobbers were blindfolded instead of restrained. Jo elbowed Dean hard and pointed to the sign in front of the apple barrel. In fancy script it read: **Bondage Bobbing**

A closer look at the Twister game drew Dean’s attention: **Strip Twister**.

The donut trebuchet: **Stuff Your Cake Hole**

Dean thought the whole thing was hilarious and Jo couldn’t stop laughing standing there among the games and the partiers/customers/weirdos. Until Jo threw another elbow into Dean’s ribs and pointed through the window inside the cafe. Castiel was standing in the middle of the cafe watching and answering questions from Becky and Zach who were setting up the karaoke stage. Dean froze. “Close your mouth,” Jo whispered. But then she followed it with, “fuck. I need to close my mouth. OK. We’re goddamn gun-toting badass detectives. We can be chill. We’re chill. Right? Those jeans. Dear St Uhura! Are they molded to that ass? And you’re hitting that? Fuck me, Dean.” The profanity-laced monologue from Jo continued but Dean couldn’t really sort it out because his brain had stopped working when all the blood in his body rushed south. Dear gods.

Cas was wearing impossiblly tight black jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched tightly across his shoulders, chest and torso. The fabric was thin enough to count his ribs and trace the outline of his nipples. Dean swallowed hard because that wasn’t even the best part. The best part was Cas’ accessories: smudgy black eyeshadow, a kitty ears headband on his head, and a black leather collar around his throat. Fucking meow. (or, hey, _Me-fucking-ow._ )

Cas looked up and saw Dean staring at him, green eyes glazed with arousal, flush coloring his cheeks, mouth ajar and lips slick where he’d licked them, chest rising and falling in the quickened pulse of desire. Cas stalked toward the doors at the same time that Dean heard the muffled sound of someone calling to him from his left.

“Dean! Godammit, Dean!”

By an act of divine or cosmic humor, or maybe rogue trickster, Sam plowed through the door of Sammiches at roughly the same time Cas strode through the door of GfM. Oblivious to each other, Cas reached Dean first, grabbed his face in his hands, thumbed his jaw open, and thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth using his hands on Dean's jaw and throat to tilt Dean's head back and given himself more access and a deeper angle. Cas held Dean there tightly. Dean offered no resistance as Cas aggressively tongue-fucked his mouth on the sidewalk. Cheers went up from the party goers.

Sam’s angry-surprised gasp broke through the white noise filling Dean’s ears -- his whole life, he’d been tuned closely to Sam’s distress. Capturing one of Cas’ hands with his own, Dean pulled away and turned to face Sam.

And then he couldn’t help it. He wanted to. He really did. But you’d have to be a far better man than Dean Winchester to show restraint in this situation. He and Jo collapsed into hysterics at the sight of Sam. Just bent their knees, grabbed their bellies and laughed their asses off, slapping each other intermittently to share their levity. Tears were running down their faces. Sam stood his ground as they laughed and laughed until finally he shouted, “DEAN!”

 

Jo and Dean began patting each other saying “shhhh” and trying to breathe between their giggles. Finally they got themselves under control.

Sam was standing in front of them, apron tightly wrapped around his waist, plaid shirt, faded jeans, work boots -- his usual Sammiches attire. But he was covered, literally COVERED, head to toe in iridescent glitter. It was in his hair, on his face, coating his clothes and on his shoes. Amidst the glitter on his face was also a coating of powdered sugar. And the shock. The utter hilarious dumbfounded shock of seeing Dean with his arm wrapped around Cat-Cas’ waist was just the icing on this sparkling cupcake.

Jo took a deep breath and asked, “Sam?”

But just at that moment, a young woman in a Sheldon costume bounced up to Sam and yelled “Bazinga!” as she snapped a pic with Sam and scampered off, crossing a box off of a form she was carrying. You could almost hear the breaking of the straw as Sam turned on Cas screaming, “Oh my fucking god, you people are so fucking weird! What the _**actual** **fuck**_!?”

Cat-Cas looked at Sam with a serious face, but Dean had learned his expressions enough to see the smile quirking at the corners of his mouth and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. A Batwoman ran past chased by a boy in a sheet carrying a trident and yelling “Release the Kraken!” while a girl in a Supergirl costume filmed them on her phone. Dean leaned into Cat-Cas and asked, “what are they doing?”

“They’re playing Catchphrase.”

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY CATCHPHRASE!” Sam shouted at both of them. A glazed donut hole sailed over their heads and smacked Sam squarely in the chest. Jo lost it again as she was consumed in a fit of giggles.

“Dude, I’m fucking serious. This” Sam gestured to himself, “is totally ridiculous. Who behaves this way?”

“Why are you covered in glitter?” Dean asked and caught Cat-Cas shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, Goth Boy, why am I covered in fucking glitter!?”

“That would be the glitter cannon,” Cat-Cas said informatively, as if he were a walking reference guide.

Jo snorted again. But Sam gave her the pissy!Sam eyeballs. And she bit her lip and became suddenly very interested in her boots. Now, _that_ shit was funny.

Dean turned to Cat-Cas cocking his eyebrow in a demonstration of his newly acquired skill, “glitter cannon?”

“There was a skirmish earlier. A truce was called and the matter was settled in single combat, but not before the two factions exchanged fire with the donut trebuchet and the glitter cannon,” Cat-Cas explained patiently.

Dean nodded sagely. “I see. And -- “

“Eat my shorts!” and “Scooby Dooby Doo!” ran up and shot a selfie with Jo. She high-fived them, and they ran off again.

Dean continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “and this single combat?”

“Yes, the number of the varieties of tacos you can name in 15 seconds.”

“I see, and so the matter was resolved peacefully.”

“Yes. And we sent out for tacos from Taco Guild to celebrate the peace accords. There are some left if you would like them.”

“OK, peace is excellent.”

“I agree.”

Sam, who had been watching this discussion, was beginning to turn dangerously red in the face. He raised his hands to his hips and narrowed his eyes.

“So, I have a question then,” Dean said, turning to face Cat-Cas, “what were the two factions?”

Cat-Cas shuffled his feet and then looked up into Dean’s eyes, “ the ‘Our Reality is a Mere Simulation’ faction and the ‘Ninja Unicorns’ faction.”

Jo bit back another laugh that came out like a cross between a cough and a snort.

“I see. And, may I ask, who was the leader of the ‘Our Reality is a Mere Simulation’ faction?”

“That would be Charlie.”

“Interesting. And can I assume that Charlie’s faction was armed with the donut trebuchet?”

“That would be correct.”

“Perfect. OK. And I remind you that I am a detective in a crack unit for the sixth largest police force in the country.”

Cat-Cas nodded.

“I’m just saying, I know my job.”

Cat-Cas nodded again.

“So, Cat-Cas, did you lead the Ninja Unicorns on an assault against Our Reality is a Mere Simulation, wherein which you, either accidentally or intentionally, shot my brother Sam with a glitter cannon?”

Cat-Cas looked from an apoplectic Sam to Dean whose face was set in a mask of professionalism but whose eyes bubbled with mirth. “That would be correct.”

“I see.”

“But,” Cat-Cas said posture shifting into that languid felinity that made Dean’s mouth water, “it _was_ an accident. And I am very, _very_ sorry.”

“Oh, that’s OK, Babe, I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” and Dean pulled Cat-Cas back into that deep, decadent kiss all tongue and lust.

“Dean!” Sam interrupted. “Why the fuck are you kissing Goth Guy.”

“Jesus, Sammy. He’s not a goth. Take a gender studies class or get a Tumblr or something.”

Cat-Cas laughed and pulled Dean back into the coffee shop with him. Sam wheeled on Jo, but she just put up her hands in surrender. Exasperated, Sam reached into his apron pockets and pulled out two handfuls of glitter and flung them all over Jo. Then he grabbed her and rubbed his sugared face all over her face. When Dean glanced back over his shoulder, Jo and Sam were still laughing and roughhousing on the sidewalk.


	19. I Want Something Just Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Jo spend a little time at the party. There's another break-in. Meg makes a discovery. And maybe so does Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to edit this. Sorry if you see any typos. I'll clean them up when I get a chance.
> 
> These updates will probably start slowing down because I've got some pressing due dates and a business trip coming up. I wanted to finish this fic before all that happened, but at least I'll have something to work on during those cross-country flights?

"Dean, this is my best friend, Charlie. Charlie this is ..."

"HOT COP!!" Charlie screeched as she leapt into Dean's arms, wrapping her legs around his thighs and arms around his neck tightly. "Dear Goddesses do you smell good!" she added snuggling her face into his neck.

Dean wondered how many more women were going to be leaping into his arms now that he was Cas'  _at least_ friend. Hold up. "Hot Cop?" he turned to Cas cocking his head.

Cas just grinned at him. "You are very attractive, Dean."

Charlie dismounted from Dean and smacked Cas on the arm, "he's so firm!" And then she turned to Dean, "you're really firm!" and smacked his arm too. 

Cas continued grinning, "Yes, Dean. You are very firm."

"Oh my god!' the Book Biddies cried from where they were seated at a nearby table where they were pouring bourbon in the coffee from a flask they were passing around. "Is this Him!? Your Hot Cop!?!"

Cas leaned over and high-fived several of the women. "Yes, this is Detective Dean Winchester of the Phoenix Police Department. "Dean, these are my friends MJ, Sarah, Rosemary, María, Amy Sue, Cora, Kathi, Carol, Margo, Sandy, and that's Trinh, our newest member." 

"Hello," Dean said shaking the many hands that were offered. "Member of what?"

"We're the Book Biddies," MJ told him, "we read mysteries, do lunches, take road trips, man the glitter cannon ... " and the Book Biddies all giggled and clinked their spiked coffee mugs today.

"I'm Becky!" a cute, perky blonde interjected. "And that," she waved toward the counter where an attractive male undergrad was semi-hiding behind the espresso machine, "is Zach."

Zach waved weakly.

Dean shook her hand and gestured to Zach, "what's his deal?"

"Oh, him? He's afraid of ghosts." Everyone laughed. Zach waved again.  
  
At some point during all of this, Dean had wrapped an arm around Charlie's waist and was holding her to his side. She fit there, and that was ... something. She was leading him around introducing him to people he probably wouldn't remember. Cas was on the other side of the store bussing tables and refilling plates of cookies and muffins. There really were several trays of tacos that were mostly decimated. Jo, Dean noticed, had joined the Biddies having squeezed onto a chair with Trinh, and they seemed to be having a grand old time. 

He whispered in Charlie's ear, "hey, does your place happen to have an office or storage room or even a glorified closet where I can talk to Cas for a second?"

She smiled brightly, "sure! Go down the hall into the community room, there's a door against the right wall. It's unlocked right now -- I was just in there refilling the flasks."

He squeezed her to his side, "Imma want to take you out drinking or to brunch or whatever you like soon, m'kay?"

"I'd love that."

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and strode across the room to Cas. Without a word, he grabbed Cas' hand and led him down the hall, through the community room and into the back office, closing the door behind them.

"Dean?"

"I just needed to see you a minute away from all these people. I just want to look at you." And Dean dropped into the desk chair and spun it to face Cas standing against the office door. "Mmmm. You look amazing, Cas. Like, I can barely breathe. Damn." Dean felt the heat rising in his face. Could you die from lust? Let's test that. For science.

"I'm glad you like it."

"I take it this has something to do with me?"

"Well, I was going to come as Martha for Charlie's Doctor, but then I got a better idea."

"Hmmmmm. It is an excellent idea, My Sexy Cat-Cas" he purred.

Cas reached behind his back and threw the deadbolt on the office door.

Then he stalked over to the couch and flipped the bottom cushions against the couch back. With a deft pull on a hidden handle, the foldaway bed unfolded and opened up right there in the office. 

"Casss...?"

Cas lifted the bench seat on the ottoman and it opened on hinges to reveal a storage space stuffed with pillows. Cas pulled them out and tossed them onto the bed.

Then he pulled the tight black tee over his head and stepped out of his shoes. He stood in front of Dean barefoot and bare chested in only those tight jeans that Dean could see now were dangerously low rise and utterly fascinating. Holy fuck.

"Cas. I dunno. This." And he made a circular gesture with his hand to indicate all of Cas. "Is my Cat-Cas thing a kink or a fetish? Because that's basically all my brain can do right now is ping pong that around. Oh and stare at your dick. Because gods. Those jeans."

In fluid motion of limbs and lines, Cas, without breaking eye contact with Dean, took a couple of steps back and stepped up onto the bed, sprawling back onto his elbows.

_Holy fuck._

Dean licked his lips and then caught sight of a woman's handbag on this desk. "Is this Charlie's office too?"

"Um Hmmm." And he popped the button on his jeans and slowly lowered the zipper.

"We ... um ... we can't do this here." Cops offices have boundaries. Rules and shit.

"Why not?" Cas asked again leaning back on his elbows, jeans open, his erection pressing against thin black nylon briefs. 

Dean swallowed and rose from the chair moving toward Cas whose eyes grew dark in response, flicker those deep blue rings of restrained aggression around his irises. Dean was really beginning to like knowing he could make Cas look like that. "Because," he said sitting on the edge of the mattress (hey! memory foam) "we can't have sex in an office you share with someone else."

"She does."

"What?"

"She brings women here sometimes. And I don't care."

"What?"

"People have sex, Dean. Charlie and I are good with it."

"No, say that thing about women again."

Cas laughed and rolled his eyes. "I'm good with us fucking in the office I share with my best friend. I'm less-good with your hetmale lesbian fantasies about my best friend."

"Mmmmm. You're the only fantasy I've got right now," Dean whispered as he crawled across the bed and settled his body over Cas'.

Cas reached up to pull the headband off, but Dean stilled his hand, "Leave it."

"Fetish," Cas answered with a smirk.

"I'm good with that."

"Charlie's right, you do smell amazing."

"If I lick your nipples will you stop talking about Charlie?" And Dean straddled Cas' hips and nipped and sucked at Cas' right nipple. Cas moaned and arched his back. Dean was pretty sure he was going to stroke out at any moment, but it was a good way to go. "Death by hot barista." His friends and family would understand. They'd probably print it in his obituary. 

Dean had Castiel naked (with the exception of the collar and cat ears) and writhing beneath him as he sucked a series of bruises along the inside of Cas' left thigh, Cas' heel hooked in the small of his back (Dean's service weapon was in its holster on Cas' desk next to his badge, and if it nagged his conscience a bit, well, it was easily silenced by 1) they were behind a deadbolted door; 2) Cas was so fucking hot even Bobby would agree this was a special circumstance; 3) department policy only recommended safes and trigger locks, it didn't mandate them and 4) this was only maybe the second time in more than twelve months he hadn't locked his gun up. Gun safety, people!) when Dean's phone chirped with Bobby's ringtone. Shit.

"It's OK," Cas whispered using his legs to leverage himself out from beneath Dean. 

"It's not OK with me," Dean growled reaching for Cas even as the phone rang a second time. Then he sighed heavily and pushed himself up grabbing his shirt from the floor as he walked over to the desk and picked up his phone. No way he was talking to Bobby while half naked. "Winchester."

He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the screen that read 4:20. "Yes, sir. I'm at a party with Jo, and we're not far. We'll be there in 10. No, we're just drinking coffee, sir. Yes, I'll bring you some. See you there."

And Dean sighed heavily again and collapsed into the desk chair to put on and lace up his boots. "I swear my life isn't always like this. It's just been crazy since I met you. This is the third break in with some kind of hate overtones in the downtown arts and entertainment district.  Something's going on. And those murders by the dad -- that almost never happens. Thank God. I'm really sorry, Babe."  
  
But Cas is smiling at him with warm and something deeper. "It's fine, really. We're fine. Your job matters and people depend on you doing it."

"You're too good to me."

And Cas, gave him a wicked grin all collar and ears and flat planes of tanned skin and hard cock, "I'm really, really not."

"Are you going to come out with me and help me get that coffee for my boss?"

"Zach can do it."

"And what will you be doing, Cat-Cas?"

"You're the one who has to go to work," Cas shrugged. "I'm going to dig the lube out of that drawer over there and finish up."

"You keep lube in your office desk?"

"You might be surprised at what we keep in that desk drawer. But, if you hadn't been called in to work, you might have found out."

They grinned at each other, all teeth and heat and testosterone.

"Yeah, Imma be revisiting this."

"Promise, Dean?"

 

***

 

The Halcyon Bar didn't open until 6PM daily, but the bar staff came on at 4:00PM to chop the fruit and blend the juices for cocktails, stock the bar, and do the rest of their prep. They knew something was off when they got to the parking lot and the back door was ajar. Thinking it was probably just a homeless person or kids or something, they let themselves in and discovered their high end art decor interior in utter ruins. All the seats of chairs and booths had been slashed. Decorative draperies had been torn down. Pendant lights were shattered. The trapezes suspended from the ceiling were also torn down as were the heavy stage drapes. Tables and chairs were shattered. Someone had taken a boxcutter or a knife and scratched the polished wooden bar surface.

The metro-Phoenix area had a number of lesbian-leaning bars, but Halcyon was that mythical upscale place where women came to play. There was a regular rotation of torch and pop singers, local fashion shows, and cabaret and burlesque performances. There were beautiful textures, beautiful drinks, beautiful people ... the whole feminine experience. Dean stood and stared at the back wall that had been done in foiled period-authentic paper - he remembered a local news feature about the expense and expertise of finding, importing it from Italy, and hanging it. Someone had spray painted in red, "DIE WHORES," across that one-of-a-kind paper in six foot tall letters. The paint dripped and ran like blood. Again, the scene felt off. Something anyway. The more time Dean spent with these crime scenes, the more he couldn't shake the feeling of an opportunity-cost equation at work. Some thing was right there beneath his line of sight. And it was written into the details of these crimes. It was like someone had worked to suss out the maximum damage you could do in the minimum amount of time.

Jo walked over to him with a crime scene tech as he continued staring at the message. "Dean, she says some of these scratches into the surfaces were made with bent clothes hangers. Some were left behind the bar. They're from Drea's. They have her logo carved into the wood body of the hanger." Yeah, there it was. These crimes were being deliberately connected for the investigators. The tech explained they were processing the scene, but in this case there were no witnesses, no security footage, no alarms, no anything.

"The back door wasn't alarmed?" Jo asked in surprise.

"No. The kitchen staff says they kept setting it off when they went out for smokes and since this is a high patrol area, they never worried about more than a couple of good locks." 

Bobby strode into the scene and Jo passed him a large travel mug of coffee she'd been carrying. He gave her a questioning look at the glitter that was all over her face and hands, but she just shook her head, and Bobby didn't ask for clarification. Let's be honest, glitter wasn't neither the worst nor the strangest thing he'd seen one of his detectives covered in. Jo ran the details down for him while Dean examined the scratches in the surface of the bar. It looked like someone had sharpened the ends of the hangers and ran along the bar pulling the sharpened points along its surface. It had been efficient, not furious. Not like the scratching up the side of Sam's car had received over that misunderstanding with his law school study partner when that guy had thought they were in a relationship and Sam thought the little dude was just bringing cupcakes and eclairs for everyone in their study group.

(That whole thing still made Dean laugh whenever he thought of it. Sam was no homophobe -- he'd done his share of experimenting in college. And while he'd never met any of Dean's male hookups, he knew they happened, and when he and Dean were out at the bar, Sam was a willing wingman no mater who Dean was moving in on. It wasn't homophobia that made Sam react like a big dumb dolt when the whole thing with the pastries went down. Nope. He was just that damned oblivious. Which, actually, was what had the little dude so pissed off. You work so hard to get someone's attention because they're so fucking special, unique, lovely, wonderful, and they just don't see themselves that way. They're so blind to it, they assume you're just this goggly eyed and besotted with everyone. That you make _everyone_ little heart-shaped cherry handpies. And that is how you get your car keyed. ) 

Bobby walked over to Dean, "so, kid, what's the plan."

"I think Jo and I start over. I think we need to look at these crimes as a whole. And I think we need to think about why they're being staged and what purpose they serve. Why these businesses, because I sure as hell am not buying hate crime."

Bobby gestured to the spray painted message, "so this isn't garden variety misogyny? Tell me why."

"Well, it sure looks like it," Dean said walking over to the bar, Bobby and Jo on his heels, "and I mean that anonymous blood-red death threat crap always serves its purpose. It's gonna be scary as hell for the patrons here. And we should put in a request to up patrols and raise the visibility. Because 'Die Whores' is a rape/death threat against these women and we should take that shit seriously even though I'm not buying it." Bobby nodded in agreement. He would handle it. Dean continued, "but these scratches aren't about hate, they're about efficiency. Someone wanted to inflict as much damage to this hand-finished beauty here as possible in as little time as they could get away with. We need to figure out why."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yep. I"ll talk to the bosses and the public relations reps. I'll get them more patrols and beat cops. You two get it done."

"Yessir."

And Dean and Jo were headed back to the office they'd left not three hours ago.

 

***

Castiel was lying in his bed watching Tom Hardy in Wuthering Heights when Meg walked in calling out to him, "Cas, are you alone?"

"Back here," he called.

He heard her rummaging in the bar, and then she was walking toward his sleeping area dressed in pink cotton boyshorts and matching tank top and carrying a bottle of anejo tequila and two tumblers. "I need your thinking cap," she told him. He nodded in consent and she crawled into his bed, sitting crossed legged next to him and expertly pouring the tequila into two glasses and passing him one without dropping the glasses or the bottle or spilling the tequila. She leaned over him, her breasts hovering just above his mouth, and placed the bottle on his night table.

They clinked glasses and sipped.

"Mmmmmmm," Meg said allowing herself to enjoy the sweet smoky burn in her throat and the bare planes of Cas' neck and chest.

He smiled at her. "What's going on?"

She nodded again. "You know how long I've worked for Crowley Security Consultants?"

"Yes. Too long."

Meg rolled her eyes. "And how he sends me on long term assignments with basically anyone because I dont care about much and I can take care of myself?"

"Yes. And I've told you how that concerns me."

"I know. And I hear you. But that's the point."

"Hm?"

"When Crowley sent me this time, he told me to watch my back with Mr Roman."

"And he's never done that before, has he?"

Meg took another sip and rolled the warm almost-licorice notes that danced over her tongue. "No, he has not. And what's more, he's called me a couple of times just to check in."

"Really." Cas stilled. That was odd. Meg was not someone who needed micromanaging. Crowley paid her well precisely because she was efficient, effective, and discreet.

"So, I did some digging."

"Meg ..."

"I'm being careful. Just paying attention to things that happen in front of my eyes and around my ears when I'm doing my job blending into the wallpaper."

"OK ..." he said tone tinged with worry. He didn't like the idea of Crowley being concerned and he didn't like what it meant that Meg was taking it seriously. 

"Right, and so, remember when I told you that Mr Roman is a developer?"

"Maybe? I think you just briefly mentioned it to Dean, but developer could mean a lot of things, and I don't like to ask you about your clients."

"And I thank you for that. But this guy is a land developer. And he's been meeting with people and investors over the phone for a couple of years trying to put together a new hotel and sports venue here downtown, and it's been an uphill fight with the zoning, city council, planning, neighborhood associations, local businesses. And so, recently, he flew out here to the desert and set up temporary offices in two suites in that boutique luxury hotel. To take these meetings in person."

Castiel understood. He knew people like that, hell, he was related to people like that. His father  _always_ pushed his business deals. His oldest brother was right in there with dad now, and they were both cut from the same sharkskin cloth. No one ever told them no forever. Nos always turned to yeses eventually.

"People like that are awful human beings, Meg. I'm sorry you have to be around him. I'm sure it's unpleasant to watch and listen to."

"Well, it is, but that's not what I was thinking."

"No?"

"Didn't you say Dean left you hard and horny in your office because he had to rush off like Batman to another break-in and vandalism?"

Cas laughed. That was pretty much his and Meg's exact text convo right there. "I did say that. And it's why I'm here alone in my bed at 11PM on a Friday night trying to console myself with a brooding Tom Hardy."

"And I'll admit that's an excellent choice, Clarence my love." She waved her empty glass at him and he gamely poured them both a little more tequila.

"I heard the break-in was at Halcyon which sucks because I love that place. But don't you think it's maybe interesting?"

"Interesting that this time it was a girl bar?"

"Well, that too. I mean, first a Latina lesbian chef, then a married Greek fashion designer, then a gay girl bar. Like, someone is trying to raise some serious community ire. But, no, I mean, when Richard Roman, developer of hundred million dollar projects comes to town to try to sort his shit out in person and suddenly bad things start happening to local businesses. And then he brings in extra personal security?"

Castiel thought about all of that for a few moments and then a few more. Taking a swallow of his tequila, he mused aloud "so, at first I thought what you meant was that Roman was paranoid that he might be a victim, but now I'm wondering if having a third-party security team, one who hasn't worked for him forever, isn't also a built-in alibi."

"That's exactly what I was thinking. I mean, Crowley's people, we're hired muscle. But we're classy as fuck. We're quiet, professional, most of us are ex-intelligence and military. We clean up nicely, we know which forks are which, we speak multiple languages, we can dance and hold cocktail conversations. We may be muscle, but we're legitimate muscle."

Cas gave her a knowing look, "you don't do your job with a shrimp fork and some tourist Spanish, Meg. You're an assassin. A very sharp, finely honed and pointy knife." 

"Maybe. But look at me, Cas. In a black suit and heels, I'm also a fucking _subtle_ knife. And if one of your detective's colleagues took my statement, he'd believe me. So would a jury."

"I'd believe that to be true. Is this just a hunch or do you have more?"

"I have more. I've heard some things that I think have meaning, but I'm not sure because I don't know the details of the case. But if I told them to the investigator, he'd be able to tell me if they were important or not."

"I think we'd better talk to Dean."

"I was hoping he was coming back over to your place tonight and we could do this here in private. If I need to confront Roman, I will, but I can't say I know anything yet."

"No, I agree. The last text he sent was an hour ago just to say hi. I don't know what his plans are. But he's been here the last two nights, so he might come back tonight."

"You know what I'm liking about this situation?" Meg asked, rolling onto her side and laying her head on Cas' chest.

"No, what are you liking about this situation?" Cas asked wrapping his arm around her and tucking her into his side.

"Dating a cop after dating me must be a walk in the park. Experience with my sudden travel and my utterly unreliable schedule have you well prepared for a municipal detective."

"Detective in an elite unit in the sixth largest police force in the country."

"Yeah, yeah, we're all proud of the very fine catch you've bagged," she said warmly as she patted his chest.

He laughed into her hair and they settled in to admire the brooding.

***

At 3AM, Dean dragged himself out of the Luhrs elevator and let himself into Cas' loft. Quietly, he locked up his gun, badge and ID cards, and then made his way to Cas' closet in the dark. Closing himself in, he flipped on the light and undressed inside the closet tossing his clothes in the hamper. In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth in the dark, but he was too tired to shower. He just wiped off his mouth and then walked naked to Cas' bed. The ambient light peeking in around the edges of the curtains provided very little illumination but it was enough to make out the erotic shape of Cas sprawled on his back, arms and legs spread out. Dark hair mussed and sexy. Sheets pulled up to just his waist. Dean was only a little surprised to see Meg in the middle of the bed, snugged into Cas' side. Shared Bed Saturday maybe was an actual thing. Huh. Meg was wearing a tank top, which made Dean smile. Given what he knew from her about Cas and his rules about sleeping naked with lovers, it was clear she was just a friendly visitor. What had she said? That Cas was her best friend? 

Dean crawled into the empty side of the bed and settled beneath the cool linen sheets. The feather pillows beneath his neck and soft memory foam beneath his back felt like heaven after a twenty hour day. He breathed in deeply and out his nose (yep, thanks again bendy yoga girl), feeling his body relax. "Dean," Meg murmured as she rolled over and lay her head on his chest, arm thrown across his stomach. She hadn't even woken up. Dean smiled at her warmly and brushed the hair off her face. He closed his eyes and thought how this wasn't weird at all. The question of why it wasn't weird -- why nothing about his new friends and their quirks and bobbles and boops, their openness, their bluntness, and the fucking _odd_ conversations they kept pulling him into wasn't weird -- hung there a moment before it evaporated in a puff of contentment. And all he felt was home and security as he drifted off beneath heavy eyelids with Meg's warm breath on his skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the coming chapters (I _think_. Since I'm mostly making this up on the fly around a seriously sketchy outline): more irking of Sam; more Charlie; because I'm writing this primarily to fuck with tropes, our heroes will go clubbing; also because I'm fucking with the tropes, there will probably be a game of Never Have I Ever. Since I am making it up as I go, if there's something you want to see, lemme know.
> 
> And once again, thank you for all your comments. Chatting with all y'all about stuffs just makes me really happy and makes me feel like I belong to a thing.


	20. Just Be Fucking Careful Where You Leave Your Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I said I was slowing the writing down, but I had a bout of insomnia last night and so, here, have some Sam smut and then some Sam/Jess smut. And then some Cas/Dean smut. There's also irking.
> 
> I guess I should give a content notice for rough sex. But, like, it's Sam. You watch SPN. You know what Sam likes.

After Sam saw Dean go inside with the not-goth-guy, he decided to cut his losses and head home, but not before transferring some of the glitter to Jo. Heh!

Sam walked down the street to the parking garage where he kept the little Audi TT Jess had given him for his birthday last year. He didn't like it out in the scorching sun, so he paid for a garage permit. He popped open his tiny trunk and pulled out the car cover he used when he had to park his car in the sun, went around to the driver's seat and placed the car cover over it. He was still going to have to get this car detailed but at least he could minimize the glitter transfer.

Sam drove home to their Arcadia neighborhood house and parked in their garage next to Jess' Range Rover. She was home which was a little unexpected but when he touched the hood of her car it was still hot, so she'd just arrived. She was probably in the shower. Maybe he could make this work and get the glitter off before she even had to see it. May no one ever speak of this. The garage had a door into the house and door into the side yard. He took the second door and walked out onto the side yard and around to the back porch. He pulled off his boots and stripped off all his clothes. The boots could probably be brushed off and polished because they were leather, but that glitter was never coming off his clothes. Sam shuddered to think of what might happen if he put these clothes in the washing machine. Glitter multiplies, you know. Nope. Not risking that. Instead, he threw them into the garbage bin on the back patio. Then he grabbed the hose, turned it on, and stepped onto the grass to begin spraying himself off. He held the hose above his head and let the cool water pour over his hair and down his shoulders. With his other hand, he rubbed at his hair soaking it thoroughly, then he shook it out. 

Moving the hose down, he began washing off his torso, one hand holding the hose, the other rubbing the glitter and water off his skin. When he got all the way down to his feet, he was standing in soaked grass with iridescent water puddling around his toes. Gods, glitter. What a fucking mess. He stood up straight and started over at the top holding the hose over his head and soaking his hair. Glittery water poured over his face and down his neck and chest. Looking down, he was amused to see a stream of glittery water running off his cock - it was like he was leaking fairy juice. He laughed and looked up to see Jess standing in front of their bedroom's French doors onto the patio. Her lithe body was wrapped in a fluffy towel and her hair was stringy and wet. She was staring at him, her eyes heated lips wet from where she had licked them.

Goddamn.

Dean could have his weirdos, Jess was a fucking goddess.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open dropping her towel. Holy fuck.

He reached her in three long strides.

Speaking of bang-against-the-wall-girls, Jess was no frail thing. She'd played varsity basketball all four years of her undergrad. Even during her hellish residency years at the hospital, she ran every morning and made it to kickboxing at least twice a week. She still ran, but now she was pilates and yoga. When she needed a contact sport, she fucked Sam. Jess stepped back from the doorway and Sam lifted her into his arms, hands beneath her ass. Her shoulders hit the wall and a stack of books fell off the dresser. Sam attacked her neck pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to her throat as he rutted against her. Bracing his left foot and shin against the wall, Sam bent his knees slightly and then straightened, lifting Jess higher up the wall so he could latch his mouth onto her breast. She released a breathy moan and Sam intensified the suction on her nipple. She banged her head back against the wall and felt his lips smile against her sensitized skin. Cocky bastard. Fuck, two could play this game. Jess' arms had been around Sam's shoulders, but now she slid her hands along the warm wet skin of his shoulder to wrap her fingers around his throat. Sam growled and Jess tightened her grip.

He pulled off her breast with a wet sound and stared into her eyes, a wild crackling energy passing between them. He loosed his grip and lowered her feet to the floor hands to her hips with the intention of turning her around and pressing the front of her body against the wall, but she used the little space the shift had made between them to her advantage. She released her hands from his throat and shoved at his chest hard enough to cause him to step back to regain his balance. She hooked a foot behind his heel and shoved hard again. His balance wavered and he bent at the waist and tucked in his arms allowing himself to hit the floor in a relatively controlled fall. Jess rode him down.

Sam lay on his back, hands on Jess' hips, feet pressed flat on the floor and knees steeply bent. Jess straddled his hips and leaned back against his thighs. He had that look on his face. That hungry heated look that said this was exactly what he wanted, and she'd better make him feel it. She sat up, then leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. Then she lined up and took him inside in one hard thrust. Sam's eyes rolled back and he groaned hotly. She reached off to her right and grabbed a pair of yoga pants that had been hanging off the bench at the end of their bed. She passed them to Sam who rolled them up and then slipped the roll beneath his neck for support. Then, once he was settled, Jess snapped her hips and set a brutal pace. Sam held her hips tightly enough that the skin was white where his fingers gripped her flesh. He growled and snarled and hissed her name along with a string of profanity endless and breathless as she rode him higher and higher. With her left palm still flat and braced on his chest, she lifted her right hand and wrapped her fingers around his neck: "Fuck yeah, Jess," he groaned at the pressure and angled his hips up into her. Their bodies slapped together as they swore and moaned and locked eyes, that familiar power rising from inside them and curling around them raising goosebumps on their skin.They came together shouting with his hands locked on her hips and hers wrapped around his throat. The neighbors can just suck it. 

"Jesus, Jess. Fuck me like you mean it."

"Always, baby," and she collapsed onto his chest.

 

***

After they'd rinsed off again, both of them in the shower this time - no accidental free shows in the backyard (although Jess made him promise to do it again sometime), they sprawled together in their gigantic sleigh bed sipping water and talking about their days. Jess' was routine, and she enjoyed it. When you're an OBGYN the routine days are the good days -- you absolutely want a boring pregnancy, one that goes along exactly as expected. Sam told her a bit about the Halloween party and the weirdos at the coffee shop and she giggled her way through it. He laughed along good naturedly. "So they were yelling famous movie catchphrases and getting selfies with people while doing it?"

"I guess?" Sam said. "I mean, I'm not positive there were specific rules."

"Oh, that is hilarious."

When he got to the part about the slinky cat guy tongue fucking his big brother out on the street in broad daylight, Jess went into overdrive. "Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Who is he?! Is he hot!? On the street!? Ohmygod!"

"You did get the part where he was dressed up like a sexy cat, right? And Dean was, and I mean this quite literally, there was saliva on his shirt, drooling at the sight of this guy."

"Oh, I heard you. Are they together?"

"You mean other than the face fucking?"

"Sam!" and she smacked his stomach softly enough not to hurt him but hard enough to trigger a flare of heat in his eyes. He rolled to kiss her and she pressed a hand to his chest, "that may have to wait a little bit longer, cowboy." 

Sam snickered and laid back on the pillows. 

"Was this guy the person he had a date with last weekend?"

"I don't think so? You know Dean doesn't date guys, he just hooks up with them."

"So you don't know if they even knew each other before the 'face fucking' situation."

"I don't know, but maybe? But, like, Jess, this is the goth guy. Or Dean says he's a not-goth-guy."

"What is a not-goth-guy?"

"Whatever, Jess, not the point. This is the goth guy, the one who owns the place with that elf girl and they work with that dandy kid. And they drive me insane. They're like bizzaro-cult leaders with their bizarro customers, and Dean is trading body fluids with one of them."

"Well," said Jess in her doctor voice, "at least saliva."

"Fuck my life," said Sam. 

"Oh hey, you said so yourself, Dean just hooks up. He's probably some guy Dean mauled in the backseat of Baby at some point and then ran into him again at the coffee shop."

Sam didn't look convinced. Jess started giggling again.

"What?" Sam asked, eyes suspicious.

"Sexy cat guy, hey?"

"What?"

"You called him a 'sexy cat guy' like three times."

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

And Sam rolled over onto Jess tickling her until she was squealing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

***

Saturday morning, when Jess was in the shower after coming in from her run, Sam texted Dean asking if he wanted to come over for lunch. Then he sent another message qualifying the first, just lunch with him and Jess, absolutely _no_ glitter allowed.

Meg was toweling off after a long, hot shower when she heard the soft ping of a text message alert through the wall. And then it pinged again. Huh. She let herself into Cas' closet and dug a pair of jeans out of the hamper. Dean's phone was in the pocket. And he really should lock his screen. She walked out to the kitchen and retrieved the overnight bag she'd dropped there on her way in last night. She always carried a bag with her when she was working a job where she was on-call. She picked up her bag and walked it back to the sleeping area setting it on the bench at the foot of Cas' bed. The boys were still sleeping.

After she'd wiggled out from beneath Dean and Cas to take her shower, they'd both gone back to sleep. In fact, they hadn't really even woken up. They'd just rolled into each other and resumed their soft snore-cuddles. They were ridiculous. And naked. Gods, they were both beautiful naked. She took Dean's phone with her and walked back to the bed. Yep. Still passed out, still hotter than hell. She crawled onto the bed with them and Cas purred her name and Dean shifted a bit in his sleep making a teeny little space for her. When she'd left the bed after extracting herself, Dean was being the big spoon and Cas was being the little spoon. But now they were both on their backs, but Cas's left arm and left shoulder were laying on top of Dean's chest. Like they'd been spooning and they just rolled over together onto their backs. It was adorable. The sheets were still low on their hips because, and she'd been in there with them so she knew this first hand, those two were like an oven. She rolled onto her back edging between them into the space Dean had made and took several selfies. She was wearing the rose lace bralette she'd had on under her tank last night and a pair of Cas' boxers. But she'd taken the selifes from their hips up because getting all three of them in the pic without rearranging too much was not the easiest thing.

Still, as she looked back through the pics she'd taken, they were pretty good. She smiled. Then she sat back up and rearranged the sheets just a little. More hip bones. More morning wood. Just a little bit more of everything good. (heh. rhymes!) And then she snapped several more photos of the boys. She looked the pics over closely. Yep. Those were keepers. 

She was debating whether she should head to the kitchen and make coffee when her phone buzzed on the nighttable. It was Roman. She was needed in earlier than expected. The buzzing phone had stirred Cas, and she envied Dean because Morning Cas was really something.  She sat on the bench at the end of Cas' bed wiggling into her jeans and watching as a mostly asleep Cas rolled into Dean's arms and began to rut against his hip, his long smooth back gracefully undulating with the motion of his hips. Yep, gorgeous. She replied to Roman's text that she was leaving shortly and would be there in 20 minutes. She took her time finding and pulling her sweater from the neat pile of clothes in the bag. Dean moaned low in his sleep as Cas huffed hot breath against his throat. As she was pulling the sweater over her head she heard the bed shift as Cas rolled on top of Dean and began thrusting against him in earnest. She shook her hair out as Dean slid one hand to Cas' lower back the other to the back of Cas' neck. He met her eyes through slitted lids and knew she was watching. She winked. He gave her a small smile and turned his face to press a kiss to Cas' temple. She laced up her shoes as the boys slowly awoke, soft moans and the rustling of sheets as they moved together. So hot.

Meg stood up and walked to the night table, opened the drawer and pulled out the bottle of lube. Dean gave her another groggy small smile as she tossed it onto the bed near his side. He opened it and poured lube into his hand and then pressed his hand in between himself and Cas. Cas hissed and Dean whispered an apology for the cold. Meg giggled in commiseration. Cas groaned, "fuck yes, like that" as Dean squeezed their cocks together and held them with his hand between their bodies giving Cas some more friction to fuck into. Cas picked up the pace and Dean rolled his head back to give Cas access to his neck, which in her mind, was the smartest thing he'd done yet. As she turned to walk out, Dean's phone rang. Cas growled and pinned Deans wrists to the pillow on either side of his head as he continued his assault on Dean's neck, hips rolling fluidly. 

Meg looked at the phone lying on the bench where she'd left it. The screen said Sammy. The brother. The one who'd sent the texts. Huh. She picked up the phone and connected the call.  
  
"Sam?"

"Who's this?"

"Meg."

Sam hesitated. Who was Meg? he wondered. "Hey, Meg. Is Dean there?"

"Yes, but he's still in bed."

Sam voice sounded puzzled, "oh? Ok, so would you ..."

Dean began panting loudly and chanting, "oh, oh, gods, oh" as Cas let out a raucous, swearing litany of "fuck, Dean, yes, ufffuck, gods so hot..."

"OH GOD!" Sam cried and disconnected the call. Meg chortled. Dropped the phone back onto the bench and headed across the floor and out of the loft, closing the door on the rising shouts of Cas and Dean.

  
***

Jess had shut the water off and was wrapping her hair in a towel when she heard Sam shout "OH GOD!" from the bedroom.

She smirked and pulled on her bathrobe and opened the bathroom door. "Sam, what is it?"

"Oh my god, I fucking hate him!"

Snickering she picked her phone up off the bathroom counter and sent Dean a text, "whatever slutty fun you're up to, I need *all* the dirty details. <3 u" 

  
***  
  
Even the cooling come on their stomachs and lube on Dean's hand wasn't enough motivation after that heart-stopping orgasm to drag Dean or Cas out of bed. They snuggled back beneath the sheets and dozed off.

Around noon, Cas' growling stomach stirred them. He smiled as Dean groaned and rolled into him saying, "I'm starving but I'm wiped out and I don't want to leave this bed."

"What time did you get in last night? Cas asked.

"A little after 3. Hey, where's Meg? She was here when I crawled into bed."

"I don't know," Cas said and he reached over to his night table for his phone to see if she'd sent him a text. She had. She was working. And then Cas read on through the rest of her texts. "Um, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I think we should probably find your phone."

Dean scrubbed his face with his hands to wake up, "yeah?"

"Yes. It seems Meg took a call from your brother this morning. She might also have sent him a selfie."

A number of facts and fuzzy memories aligned for Dean in just that moment. Meg. Phone. Sam. Shit.

"Oh god. He's going to kill me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I have to get to work. Smooches!


	21. Cas Isn't Your Manic Pixie Dream Fuck, TYVM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have their first fight. But, Dean's teachable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fiddled with this and fiddled with it. And I just couldn't get it right. And then I fought the urge to delete all of it and try starting over. In the end, I decided to just post it and hope for the best.

Cas had plans to meet everyone at Grounds for Murder to finish the clean up. Charlie was bringing the power washer for the donut glaze stuck to everything, and they'd promised Kevin he could operate it. So that was going to be something. And then he was heading over to Charlie's to hang out and discuss their upcoming close-friends-only Halloween party, also known as "them" time, and drinking wine in the garden until they fell asleep, or, also, just another Saturday night in CharlieandCastielLand.

Dean told Cas he had to get back to work -- he and Jo had made some progress last night --but before he went into the office, he needed to run home and see Solo. His neighbor's girlfriend always looked in on her when Dean couldn't make it home, but he missed her.

And he had Sam and Jess to deal with. **Upside** : Meg was only teasing when she said she'd sent Sam a selfie. **Additional Upside** : Meg had taken some truly gorgeous (and erotic) photos with his phone. Girlfriend had an eye. **Tangential Upside** : Sam had sent a single word "jerk!" text so probably everything there was mostly fine.

 **Downside** : Jess had left a voicemail that she and Sam felt he was working too hard, and they wanted him to catch them up on his life lately, and they were meeting him for dinner at that Mexican place with the good tacos at the Arizona Center, and they weren't accepting no for an answer, so he'd better be sitting in a booth with a pitcher of top shelf margaritas at 5:45PM or he'd regret it. So, there was that.

If only Dean's downsides didn't always have to travel in packs. Or, if only Dean could ever learn to quit while he was ahead. One of those... 

Cas wanted Dean to bring Solo to Cas' and for Dean to stay at Cas' until these cases broke. Dean thought that was a lot to ask of a guy he'd only known a month and really only been on one and a half dates with, depending on how you counted being the pin-ee against an alley wall and being the pin-er on a foldout couch in a back office.

Cas reminded Dean that he liked cats. Dean figured that if Cas liked cats, he'd have one of his own already. 

"Please, Dean?"

"Did you know you say my name a lot."

"Yes."

"Like,  _a lot."_

"I enjoy the shape of your name in my mouth, Dean."

"Jesus. You can't say things like that when I'm trying to think of reasons not to just take every fucking thing you're offering." Goddammit. These  _conversations_.

Cas cocked his head and whispered dryly, "what about these conversations?"

"I said that aloud?" An observation, not a question.

"She's your cat, Dean. I'm asking you to bring your cat over so she'll be less alone."

"She's _my_ goddam cat! Me and _my_ goddam cat aren't playing house with _you_ and _your_ sexy-sketchy girlfriend."

Cas ran his index finger around the rim of the hand-thrown pottery mug pulled from what was a truly eclectic collection of mugs in his otherwise showroom kitchen, pinched forehead looking like there were about six different threads back there in that rant that he wanted to yank. "Dean, maybe we need to revisit that conversation about the complicatedness of 'normal.'" 

Dean scrubbed at his face, "gods, Cas. _Maybe_ you could just put on a shirt if we're going to do this."

"No."

"No?" with enough chip in it to complete a dip and salsa bar.

"No, Dean. I am fine with vulnerability. With exposure. And thinking and feeling and being aren't separate things to me." (and, point of order, this is the kitchen on Shared Bed Saturday).

Dean roughly tosses back half his coffee and swallows hard. "Because you stir all that shit up together?" .

"No. Because I don't lie to myself about what I need."

"Jesus, Cas. Just say what you really think."

Castiel sighed. "What I'm offering is space, Dean. Leave, stay. Sleep, fuck. Talk, laugh, eat, drink. Want, need. Be wanted and needed. It's just space."  
  
"You think I'm lying to myself." An observation, not a question.

"I'm sorry, that was too strong, maybe too inflected. An omission, then. Not a lie."

Cas absently rubs the ball of his right foot against the ankle of his left and Dean thinks no one has the right to look that unselfconscious and it stirs that ever-present, banked anger that glows deep inside him.

"And you're that magic boy - that manic pixie dream fuck - with your silly games, and your silly friends, and your 'nothing is ever so serious that it can't have its own nickname'. And all that's going to fix me because you indulge me and service me and feed my goddamn cat. And I'm just gonna keep being Dean the Manchild ."

Cas set his mug down on the counter. "This is about you, not me. I am none of those things, Dean. I'm a grown person who handles his own shit. _My_ life is squared away. _My_ responsibilities are met. _My_ people are loved and cared for. I  _got_ mine. The long way around -- _the hard way_ , Dean. And the last thing I need or want is a dependent."

They stared across the counter at each other Dean roaring for a fight, Cas impassive but unguarded too. He was like water, Dean thought, deep and wide and still. Dean took another deep, cleansing breath and left it out slowly.

Voice low: "except my cat," Dean's face was still set but his eyes were softer.

Cas' mouth curved up at just the corners, "except your cat."

"I don't know if you know this but sometimes I'm kind of dickish."

"Dickish?" Cas quirked an eyebrow. And damn if that wasn't starting to get under his skin.

"Well, it's just such an all purpose word, you know?" Dean set his coffee mug down gently on the counter next to Cas'. Cas smiled warmly at the side-by-side mugs on the counter, and Dean thought 'there you are.' Cas look up at Dean like he was going to say something else, but then he just flicked his eyes to the sunburst wall clock and said, "I've got to make some calls before I go."

"I don't suppose we could end our first argument with your hand down my pants instead?"

"Go get your fucking cat, Dean."

 

 ***

With Dean driving and Jo navigating and making calls, they started back at the beginning. Sally's was operational again, and the patio was crowded -- it was a beautiful late October afternoon in the Sonoran desert, and with the misters running and a DJ spinning salsa, the crowd seemed energized and ready to drink and dance. Inside, it was a different story with none of the tables occupied. Granted, it was a Saturday afternoon, but Sally's had the best [al pastor](http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/tacos-al-pastor-2) in the city. The best bartenders. The best people. They found a hightop on the patio, ordered [hibiscus tea](http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/agua_de_jamaica_hibiscus_tea/) and snacked on a basket of chips and a side of árbol salsa while they people-watched. So much of their job was just observing and putting things together. Sally came out of the kitchen with a Mexican coffee and sat with them for a few minutes. She looked tired. Dean sipped his tea and made himself small while Jo and Sally made girltalk. She and Katie had decided to get pregnant. Jo happened to know an OBGYN. Dean smiled into his drink.

Drea's place was closed. The sign on the door said the staff was on holiday and would be back in early-November. And that in the meantime, orders could be placed on the website and would be filled before Thanksgiving. Jo made a note of the dates and scheduled a followup in her tablet, and Dean asked her about sewing -- how many orders could be sewn on demand in two weeks. I mean, it seemed like a big promise to be able to make, yes? Jo told Dean her ovaries didn't mean she knew a fucking thing about sewing. Dean stared her down until she squirmed.

"Dude, I've been to Cole's house for that July 4th pool party/bbq thing. I _talked_ to him and his mom about how together they made all the drapes and blankets and potholders and shit in that house. Like I was trying to figure out what it would take to smuggle those matching placemats and napkins and tablecloth and fucking table runner - yes, I know what that thing is called and I want that peacock blue one with the tassel thingies on the corners he has - out of that dining room. I'd marry that asshole just for the mending possibilities alone. Do you know what running does to my socks? So, don't give me your ovaries bullshit. Call your fucking boyfriend." Cole said either Drea had zero business on deck or she had access to a scaleable sewing operation, which, maybe that was something you could do in LA, NY, Chicago, but he wasn't sure about Phoenix. He'd ask around. Jo whispered something that sounded a lot like, "I'll wake you up when I get home," while Dean made himself busy making a grocery list in his phone.

Halcyon was closed. There wasn't even a sign on the door when it would be open again. Dean checked the website, and there was a password protected members area. Which he was pretty sure was new. They sat in their car and speculated. It dawned on Dean that Cas probably knew people who were in that closed community. At roughly the same time, Jo asked him if he thought the Grounds for Murder people might know some Halcyon regulars. Dean acted like he hadn't considered that and promised he'd ask around. Jo gave him the eyeballs. 

Dean asked Jo if she wanted to meet up with Jess and Sam for tacos and tequila. Jo laughed and patted him on the arm, and then she pushed him out of the car and told him to call an Uber. Yes, she did.

Aces.

 

***

 

At 5:42PM, Dean was sitting at booth in Mi Amigos, a basket of hot chips and a bowl of fresh tomato salsa in front of him on the table, along with a pitcher of cadillac margaritas and three glasses of ice. Jess, strolled in wearing a soft, chambray sundress with ankle-wrap espadrilles, her blonde waves up in an effortless ponytail. Goddamn his brother was a lucky, lucky man. Dean stood and pulled his sister-in-law (who was he kidding, Jess was as much a sister to him now as Sam was a brother, and he would do _anything_ for her.) into a tight embrace. She smelled like citrus and sunlight and she hugged him tightly enough to bruise, but he didn't mind. Jess gave the best hugs.

He waited until she sat and asked, "where's Sam?"

She laughed, "he's at a meeting with the Local First people. He thinks our dinner is at 6. And he thinks he'll be a couple of minutes late since his meeting isn't over until 6."

Dean cocked his eyebrow at her -- he was getting good at this and she giggled again, "I wanted you to myself for a few minutes."

Dean busied himself pouring them both drinks. A server materialized with glasses of ice water. Dean asked for guacamole: "sí, muy bien." 

"So, Dean, tell me about the sexy cat guy."

Dean snorted into his drink and stuffed a chip in his mouth smirking at her as she rolled her eyes at his table manners. "Sexy cat guy?"

"Sam said you were doing the PDA on the sidewalk with a hot guy in a cat costume -- the barista that he really doesn't like." She smirked over the salty rim of her glass.

"Yeah, Castiel. We had dinner last weekend." Dean's mind chose that moment to remind him of Cas' notion of a wakeup call from this morning. He shifted in his seat and pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table to cover the adjustment of his pants.

Jess' eyes narrowed. "Dinner?"

Dean wasn't reticent or reserved around Jess, it just wasn't their thing. "We got dressed up and went out to Christopher's Crush. He looked amazing in this blue silk suit. We fooled around in the car, and then when we got back to his, he was bossy as fuck, which was so hot."

"Oh?" She sipped her margarita through a straw, "details! Spill it, Winchester." 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose to hide the flush across his cheeks. "He's got this thing about watching, and he's not shy about his body. Which, he definitely should not be. Between the yoga and the running, all of that is a 'yes, please' for me. Show me all of that," and Dean followed it with the circling gesture that made Jess giggle and fling a chip at him.

"Yeah, Sam mentioned he wasn't sure how your guy could breathe in the cat costume."

"Gods. I thought that outfit was going to kill me. I dragged him back to his office and got him out of it on the couch. Well, all of it except the ears and the collar, because damn." Jess snickered again. "And then, just when I was getting to the fun stuff, I got called into work. Fucking Bobby. I definitely need to revisit those jeans."

"Hipbones?"

"Oh yeah, like nom." and they traded a knowing smirk. There are some upsides to your sister liking all the same stuff you like, "and there's a tattoo on the back of his hip I gotta get a closer look at."

"And, so, this is the person you've been in bed with when Sam calls?" Jess waved at the barman and signaled deuces - he nodded at her.

Dean spread his hands, "Look, in my defense, Sam's not exactly a stranger to how I spend my weekend nights and the inevitable conclusion of those nights having mornings."

Jess smiled at him with the kind of loving indulgence he would literally rally an army and ride against the First Cav and Kit Carson himself if it meant he could always keep that look. "You haven't been that guy for a long time, Dean."

"I know, and you're right. And this isn't that. Cas is my friend." An attractive young woman dropped the two tequila shots Jess had ordered on their table with a smile. Jess nodded to Dean, and they picked up their shots, clinked them, knocked them back, and then banged them together on the table laughing. Jess signaled another round. Gods he loved this girl.

"Friend you're fucking," she said matter-of-factly, stacking and re-stacking the shot glasses.

"Um, sort of?"

"Sort of? Sort of friend? Or sort of fucking? I'm going to need a little clarification there, Winchester." And she crammed a chip in her mouth grinning at him.

Yeah, what the hell. She was his doctor, after all. I mean, he saw the GP she recommended for his annuals, but when he had a sinus infection, when he had the flu, when he had a hangover, Jess was his doctor. "Let's just say I haven't exactly worked my way through that ... entire playbook yet." 

She nodded at him seriously. "You're kidding? Like, ever? Because Sam is always asking for ..."

He put his fingers in his ears, "LA LA LA LA LA!"

She put her hands up in surrender and then pressed them to her giggling, blushing, lovely face. "AHEM!" and she put on her Serious Doctor Face, "So, like, ever?"

And then she couldn't hold the serious expression and snorted again. Another round of giggles: "Well, like ever. Because ..."

"Because your history with men is pretty much isolated to bathrooms and backseats. And with your women, you're more a giver than a receiver."

He took another sip of his margarita, swallowed, and nodded, "that'd be it."

She squeezed his hand across the table. "And this is more than that?"

"It's maybe the first time I've ever wanted it to be more. I like him, Jess. He's just a lot more interesting that I ever thought I'd get."

Interesting could mean a lot of things. She chose to put a pin in that one to come back to later. "OK, well given your, ... let's call it  _vast,_ porn library, I know you know the mechanics. So what are we talking about here?"

"We've really only been together a couple of times - literally both times Sam called. Well, except the night before that first phone call I thought was you. How do you count that? Is the night before counted separately than the morning after?" And they were grinning and kicking each other under the table. 

"You were going to answer the phone because it was me." Gigantic Jess Mischief Smile.

"Well, yeah. You ring, I answer. You're my Jess." Gigantic Dean Heart Eyes Smile.

"You're such a bad liar, Dean."

"OK, so I answered because you're as slutty as I am, as dirty-minded as I am, and you love me almost as much as I love you."

"More, you asshole."

"Plus there's that old married lady thing. That's a lot for me to live up to."

"Damn straight," she said with another sip of margarita. 

"You know, because Cas is all bendy and .." and they started laughing again. The bartender shot Jess a smirk and shook his head. OK, maybe they were getting a little loud.

"Yes, OK. Anyway Dean, back to the subject. You've only been together a couple of times?"

"Yeah. And it's good. It's really (gods,  _really_ ) good, but it's different. He's not, I don't know how to say this, so goal oriented as I expected?"

"Um? I'm not sure what you mean. And I could put it in the context of Sam for you, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to talk about your sexgoals-oriented little brother."

Dean gave her a filthy smile. "Oh, I roomed with that goal-oriented asshole for a couple of his college years. And, lemme just say, if you're ever looking for a man with attention to detail who likes to take his time, I'll remind you there's another Winchester. And I'm the pretty one."

She threw another  chip and he caught it and shoved it in his mouth and winked at her. She dipped her forefinger in her water and flicked it at him, "I don't know how I never got around to getting you boys drunk enough to have you both."

"[Hell, you know I'm in](http://www.andpop.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/dean6.gif) any time you are."

"I love you too, you medium-sized lug. So, goal oriented?"

"Right. Well, the subject I'm dancing around here hasn't come up yet. And he's way more experienced than I am. So what's that about?"

 "You're saying he's gay? And he's had a lot of partners?"

"Not gay. Pansexual. Also, I should have clarified with you, and oh, shit, with him. Fuck, I suck at this. He's gender-nonbinary. I didn't even think about asking him about the pronouns thing." 

"Be careful, Dean. I'm going to make you go to another inclusivity workshop ..."  

He laughed, "baby girl, I'm living an inclusivity workshop just about now." He thumbed his phone and started flicking through the pictures.

"Are we talking about Meg now? The woman who answered the phone in the room with you?"

Dean found the pic he liked best. He was flat on his back on the right side of the bed. His right arm thrown above his head, hand wresting open on his pillow. His face was turned to the right, away from Cas and Meg. Cas was lying on his back with his right shoulder and right arm on top of Dean's left shoulder and arm. His left arm was carelessly stretched out to his left, and his face was turned toward Dean. Where Dean was squarely on his pillow shoulders parallel to the headboard, Cas was kind of diagonal with head closer to Dean's and his torso and hips angled away. Meg had squeezed her petite frame into the little isosceles triangle made by their bodies. Her dark hair with its fuchsia tips was spread over their shoulders and her fair skin was complemented by her rosy pink bralette. She'd extended her arms to take the selfie from above. The cool, fall morning light filtered cleanly through Cas' white curtains. She'd nailed the focus somehow, and the brass charm on a leather thong Dean wore around his neck, the ID tag on a cheap chain she wore around hers, and the assorted bits of leather, bead and floss wrapped around Cas' wrists leant another layer of organic texture to the candid shot. The contrasts of hair and skin against white bedding and Cas' espresso-stained headboard, all shimmering in filtered daylight was arresting, he thought, even if it made Dean a bit vain. His bedmates were fucking gorgeous. 

Jess gasped when she saw it and pulled the phone from his hands to look more closely. "This is gorgeous, Dean."

"Yeah. All Meg. I was sound asleep."

"Well, yeah, it's a gorgeous photo, but the three of you are gorgeous. Wow."

She raised her index finger to flip through his photos when he cleared his throat, "yeah, maybe you don't want to go browsing there. She took more pics."

Jess looked at him wickedly and raised her finger to begin flicking. He hid his face in his hands and peeked at her through her fingers. 

"Jesus, Dean. These are hot." She looked up at him briefly and their eyes met. She went back to flipping through his phone.

"Yeah..."

"No, I mean it. I'd crawl right in there too. Holy fuck!" Which, of course, was the exact moment the girl from the bar dropped of their next round of shots. She looked, because human instinct, over Jess' shoulder at the pic of Cas and Dean, thin linen sheet barely concealing anything at all given the morning state they were both in. She gasped and dragged her eyes up to Dean who blushed furiously. Then she winked at Dean and said, "on the house, big boy." She spun on her heels and sashayed back to the bar. Then Jess started laughing. Dean couldn't help it, he started laughing too.

They downed those shots like they had the others. Hard and fast.

"OK, so, wait, go back to the 'way more experienced thing'. You know this because he told you? Have you guys been tested?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. "No. And no. It's more how he is. Gods, I can't believe I'm going to say this. We haven't talked about it, at all." Dean stared at the little pile of empty shot glasses in kind of shock. He was a shitty detective. "It's like apparently I've just assumed a bunch of stuff because he's so open with how he feels and what he wants. And Meg is just like him. And I guess, I don't know."

"OK, I've got to ask, but no judgment OK."

Dean smirked. He suddenly knew where this was going. "Yeah?"

"What was Meg doing in the room while you and Cas were loud enough to freak out Sam?"

"Honestly, I don't remember. They were already asleep together - slumber party-like - when I got home that night. It was like 3AM, and I was beat. I just  crawled in with them and passed out. And the next thing I know, Cas is giving me a hell of a wake up call. I sort of remember the phone ringing, but I wasn't really awake yet, and Cas is  _distracting_."

"Wait. So many questions. Where to start? I thought you'd been out twice. You're living with him?"

"No?"

"You said you got 'home' that night. But you say no you're not living with him. What the hell does that mean, Dean?" She looked a little judgy to be honest. He cocked his head at her and she settled down under his gaze. These nonverbals he was learning were gold. 

"Things are messy for me right now. And he's simple. It's nice to crash somewhere things are simple."

"These pics are hot as hell, Dean" she said passing the phone finally back to him and added, "but I think I might need to hear more about how this arrangement here is simple."

"Um. Because if they're tired, they sleep. If they're hungry, they eat. They like to laugh and they like to touch, so they do that. I have never spent so little energy on wondering what people were thinking - thinking about me. And I mean, since I never stop thinking about all the things about me, it's a relief." And then he nodded his forehead at the door as Sam walked in.  
  
Jess whispered the next bit low and fast as Sam crossed the restaurant to them, "look, come by my office Monday after 5pm. I'll do your tests myself and send them through my lab. Bring Cas or don't. But let's just get this out of the way." He squeezed her hand and nodded at her.   
  
They both stood up as Sam got to their table - Jess titled her cheek for a kiss from her husband and Dean hugged his brother.

Sam nodded at the stack of shot glasses and signaled the bartender for another round, "I see you two got a head start on me."

Jess laughed. "You're driving, baby." Sam rolled his eyes, but it was affectionate. And he wrapped his arm across the back of the booth behind her as they took their seats and accepted the guacamole from the server who smiled warmly at the cuddly Sam and Jess.

Sam turned to Jess, "so did you find out who Meg is?"

Dean and Jess laughed. "He was just explaining this to me, go ahead Dean, tell us about Meg."

"She's Cas' ex, and they still mean a lot to each other. She lives across the hall from him when she's in town. Which isn't a lot. Her job takes her around the world, and according to her, he's into monogamy and she wasn't around enough to make that work for them."

Jess looked thoughtful, like she was updating something in her head.

"So, are you sleeping with both of them?" Sam asked, sounding surprisingly unjudgy. Which was ... odd. Dean put a pin in that for later.

"Yes, but only on Saturdays."

They both stared at him.

"Look, don't ask me. I haven't figured it all out yet, but she sometimes stays over and they watch tv all night and fall asleep. I crashed with them last night when I got to Cas' place super late. Or early. I'm still not sure which 3AM counts as. I think she was leaving for her job this morning when you called."

Sam reached across the table and took Dean's wrist. He intertwined Jess' fingers in his other hand. "Dean, I'm not trying to pry, and I'm not trying to chick flick you. You've been you a long time, and, like we don't always agree, but I always get where you're at. So, I'm just going to jump in here. Lately, you seem different..."

"Sam, if this is about Cas, he's not that 'weird,' ..."

"It's not about Cas. Well, it is, but I honestly don't care who you sleep with if you're happy. Doesn't mean I'm not going to try to figure out if you're happy though."

"I literally just met him, Sam."

"But you sort of live with him," interjected Jess, and Sam turned to her in surprise.

Dean shrugged. Five or six hours ago, he'd been standing in the kitchen in Cas' boxers and one of Cas' many uni t-shirts and trying to deny that he avoided thinking about his own desires.

"Ok, let's come back to that," Sam said sensing something was on the table between Dean and Jess. And then the shots showed up and Dean was throwing his back with his free hand.

"The thing with the kids..." Sam starts again.  
  
"Sam." Dean said without shaking off his brother's anchoring grasp. "Look, I did that because I wanted to. I wasn't thinking about the cameras or the caseworkers or the procedures or anything. The kids were there, and I was feeling really rough, and they were looking rough, and I just thought -- or maybe felt, it all happened kind of fast -- that I'd feel better if I had those kids in my arms. I wasn't trying to make them better, but I was glad if it did. But I knew it would make me feel better. I wanted to hold those kids."

They were staring at him again. But he refused to feel self conscious about this. About handling his business and owning his shit. Loving his people. He was Dean Fucking Winchester, and he was fucking teachable.

Sam squeezed his wrist and released it. "OK."

"OK?"

"You live with him?

"Not like moved in and whatever, but sleeping in his bed half the time and borrowing his clothes, yeah.  Or at least that's how my last week has gone. And probably this coming week too. Maybe until we break the case. I'm putting in a lot of hours, and it's nice to have the support."

"And the sex?"

"Yep. That too. And, oh gods, his place has great water pressure."

The server came with another round of shots and they ordered food. Sam excused himself to wash his hands.

"So, he's over his ex and ready for a new thing?" Jess asked scooping up a large portion of guac.

Dean hesitated, "I don't think they work that way. But I haven't asked yet."

"Work what way?"

"They love each other, I think? They were sleeping together whenever she came into town until ... huh. ...I keep finding things I just assumed, like that they're not fucking because he and I are. "

"But you don't know?"

"I don't think he would without talking to me. But no, I don't know. And now that I think about it, I don't know that it matters."

"Because you just met?"

"No. Because he can be my boyfriend, but that doesn't mean I get to control how his relationships with his friends work."

"Sam is right - you do sound different. But its good. I like it when you talk stuff out with me."

"These people are so different from what I'm used to. I might be needing to talk out more things before I figure it all out."

"You know where I live."

Dean switched to ice tea and finished off dinner with his family. It was light and fun. They'd like Cas, he was sure now. Maybe they'd come for the Halloween party. He'd have to see if Cas and Charlie had room for two more. 

While Sam and Jes fought good-naturedly over which one of them was going to get the check (and Dean knows from Sam's eye-rolling at his and Jess' mall shopping ritual that it's all the same money anyway)

Dean sent a text to Cas, "so, it turns out dickish might mean I make a lot of assumptions about stuff"

Cas: "no rlly?"

Dean: "shut up, asshole. Also, I may have just caught that whole complicatedness of normal thing"

Cas: laughing emoji

Dean: "have fun tonight, ok? Tell Charlie I want to see her soon"

Cas: "kk dont work 2 hard"

Dean: "you text like a teenager when you're drinking"

Cas: "shutup asshole" winky face

Then Sam and Jess dropped him off back at the office, so he and Jo could get back to work.

 

***  

Dean and Jo were in a conference room with multiple screens on the walls and their laptops spread out with notes and supersized cups of soda. They were doing an analysis of the forensic reports, just building a statistic review of the methods of vandalism, the damage, and the estimates of perpetrators and time. They had some fancy data programs they were plugging their numbers into -- Dean was pretty good with analytical stuffs and so he'd been the one to take the workshops on the software.

Jo was faster typing, so they had a kind of data entry system going. Separating it out like this, in layers, so that the potential suspects were viewed in one layer, the victims in another, and the logistics in another was maybe a little nerdy, but even if it didn't get them a new look at the crimes, this stuff would still be useful to the prosecutor if they ever got it to trial. Indexed data at the ready.

By the time 10PM rolled around, they had a pretty good idea that as messy as the crime scenes looked, they were probably, according to the forensic reports and the number crunching, and just their experience with the bad things humans get up to, that they were looking for a team of two. Who, factoring in the athleticism required to break and smash things on the fly, were physically fit, agile and organized. They probably spent less than 20 minutes at every scene -- maybe as little as 10.

So now what they needed was a motive.

Around 11PM, Dean got a text from Cas asking if he could clear his Monday night after 8PM for a home-cooked meal. He sent back an affirmative and plugged it into his calendar. 

By just before 1AM, he and Jo had a thorough and professional file all updated and collated: a short list of speculative motives, a nice looking summary report of their day of data crunching, and a bullet pointed plan for proceeding with the investigation that included getting the word out to local business owners and raising the profile of their LGBTQ and racial diversity community policing programs. The idea was to get people talking because they needed to know more, just more of everything, to uncover a motive tying together the vandalism of the small businesses of three women. The speculations in their report were: money/debt; revenge/personal affront; hate/intimidation.

The whole thing went to Bobby in an email with a formal cover memo so he could send it up the chain or whatever he needed to do with it. And then, other than clean up this mess, there wasn't much left to do right now. Dean sent Jo home to Cole, and he gathered the garbage, cleaned the surfaces, backed up the files, and dumped the bins. 

 

***

Solo wasn't at the door waiting when Dean came through it, which was suspicious because she knew the sound of Baby's engine coming down the street like she knew the sound of a bag of treats being taken out of the cupboard. He called her name and then headed back to his room to throw a few more sets of clothes in a bag and wake up his lazy cat.

Yeah.

He found Solo in his bed having inflicted her opinions of his recent absence on the right, and the right one only, of his favorite pair of flip flops. M'kay. Mad Han Solo. Slayer of Shoes.

Cas was right. She needed company. He sat down on the bed next to her, and she allowed him to pet her head. "Do you want to go hang out with my friends for a few days?"

She purred and crawled up on his chest to head bump his face.

Cas had sent a request to housekeeping and maintenance to set up a space for Solo's litter box in an unused storage room off Cas' laundry room. Yes, he had been surprised to discover that Cas actually did most of his own laundry, "just not anything requiring an iron, Dean." He had also been surprised that housekeeping would happily tend to his pet's needs. Apparently they preferred cleaning up after pets over cleaning up after residents. Cas had  _also_ added Solo's favorite food and treats to his shopping list -- yep, Cas did his own day-to-day shopping, but staples and regular stuff got delivered. When Dean had complained to Jo about Cas' "lifestyle," Jo had made fun of him. "Everyone gets their groceries delivered, Amazon sends their stuff to their door, and Cole has a cleaning service in every other week for the hard stuff. Hell, even Bobby and Ellen have a service." Dean had texted Jess about cleaning services, and she'd actually assumed he wanted a referral. He was surrounded by podpeople. That was the only explanation.

So, having packed a few changes of clothes and Solo's favorite toys into a bag, Dean coaxed his cat into her carrier and settled her into Baby's front seat. His bag went on the floorboard. Yeah, it was probably safer for her the other way around, but Solo was a Siamese, and she was going to complain his ear off for driving her in the car. So, he wanted her where she could see him, and he could talk back to her. Minimize his time in her doghouse. Or wherever it was pissed off cats put you when they couldn't get their teeth into your shoes.

The irony of his and Cas' whole earlier argument, if you could call it an argument -- Dean was still working on what happens when you disagree but there's no screaming and no one storms out or whathaveyou, was that by the time Dean got to Cas' place a little before 2AM, he found himself and Solo alone in it. He felt sort of stupid now. I mean, there were thousands of square feet up here between these two lofts. And the three people semi-occupying them had demanding careers and kept long hours. They had friends and lives of their own. Obligations and commitments. Not everything was about Dean.

He hauled Solo in carrier into the laundry room to show her the new digs and faced down surprise #1. Someone had installed a little cat flap into the door of the storage closet off the laundry room. When he opened the closet, it contained a fancy litter box. Solo had her own bathroom.

Her food dish was in the laundry room. He found a cat water fountain running in an out of the way corner by a bookcase. So surprise #2. He didn't recall telling Cas that cats don't like their food near their water, but someone handling this arrangement obviously knew all about cats. He let Solo out and she snuffed her new box. Then she slowed sniffed her way around her new place. Which given it was enormous, was going to take her awhile. He patted her head and left her to her exploring. After a quick stop at the bar in the living area for a bourbon, Dean headed for the shower. Where he found surprise #3 - a box on the counter with a post-it note stuck on it, and his name, Dean, written on it. 

Huh. He opened the box and inside was a bottle of Molton Brown Pink Pepperpod (it smelled amazing) Bath & Shower Gel, a paperback copy of Gaiman's  _American Gods,_ a small pharmacy bottle, (unexpectedly) prescribed legally in his name by his GP, with 30 pills inside, and another post-it note, "Sorry if it's been weird. Try to relax. Text me when you eventually wake up because I think I found something else that could help you. -m" The sticky note included her number.

Out of curiosity, he pulled up the pharmacy app on his phone and clicked on his prescription history. Yep. There it was. Ativan prescribed by his doctor this afternoon. Totally legit. 

Dean stared at the box for a moment. A really good book that he already knew he liked, a bath gel he loved the scent of the moment he unscrewed the cap, and chill out pills. Is this what he needed? And who the hell was Meg, and just wtf, and also how did she make that shit happen? 

But then, yeah. It had been a long day. He'd panicked and tried to pick a fight with Cas. Jess and Sam had crawled into his insides and stirred things around. This case -- someone was trying to tell him something but he couldn't get it yet. He  didn't have to be back at work until Monday. Yeah. Fuck it, he was doing this.  
  
He started the bathtub running, poured in the bath gel, swallowed two of the pills tipping his head beneath the running faucet for the water to wash it down, and started stripping off his clothes. He sank under the water waiting a moment while the heat soaked through to his scalp, and then surfaced just enough to get his mouth and nose out of the water. Cas' tub was huge. May as well get the full experience. 

This hand found a switch for massage jets and a heater to keep the water at temp. Awesome. He soaked a washcloth and laid it over his eyes and let the heat sink into his bones. He was floating. Weightless. Boneless. Warm. Time slowed.

Pushing the washcloth aside, he picked up his phone that was lying on a towel nearby. 2:30. He spent a few moments scrolling through Meg's pics again. So gorgeous. He sent a text to Meg of the pic he liked that he'd shown Jess. Then he added a note -- as an afterthought, maybe: "thanks for the great bath. Headed to bed if you're home and want to sleepover."

He dropped the phone onto the towel and time floated again.

He heard the door and a few moments later, Meg, wearing her usual next-to-nothing sleeping shorts and tank walked into the bathroom carrying Solo. She looked him over, boneless and drifting. "You high, Dean?"

"Nah. Jus' relaxed'n outta fucks t'give."

She laughed. "You do seem like you put yourself through a lot of work."

"Yeah."

"Come on. Let's get the three of us to bed."

Dean looked at his very content Solo in Meg's arms. "Traitor."

 

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up in the next few chapters, I plan to write: some straight up smut. And then I think a break in the case. Also I've got to get to the Halloween party where Dean's family meets his new family. Poor Sam.


	22. We Comin Up Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Dean and Cas (but mostly Dean) work some stuff out. Literally, 4k words of smut goes out to [Eyes of Tragedy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy/pseuds/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy) because #WaywardAFsisterhood
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter fulfills a threesome promise to [ sarcasticbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticbones/pseuds/sarcasticbones) SMOOCHES! You can skip it if you want. It never happens again, it's destiel from here on out, and our boys are each others' endgame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Danger Twins' [Radar ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKFIJXLsbMs)
> 
> eta: I didn't tag this story for recreational drug use but fyi there's a single mild reference here. And, let's just get this out there that your prescribing doctor will be all stern-faced and finger-waggy if you do what Dean does in this chapter and mix your benzos and your liquor. Also, if you attempt this (and I'm not recommending you do, just informational), you'll want to shut off your one-click ordering on your Amazon Prime because it's entirely possible that in two days, an entire 100ct box of Blow Pops and three pints of the fancy tahini may show up on your doorstep.

Dean pulled himself slowly from the water, all liquid and dreamstate, suds streaming down the refined planes of his body, and Meg held out a fluffy white bath sheet. He hesitated before he took it from her, just one moment to tilt his head suggestively, "what, you're not going to comment on all the epic Deanness on display?"

She clicked her tongue at him, "I don't take advantage of stoned people, babe."

"Not stoned."

"No? Because you're looking more than a little blissed out there."

"Yeah," he sighed in pleasure, taking the towel to dry himself and savoring the soft, warm, heavy cotton in his hands. He was starting to get Cas' thing about these textures, "A little. But it's mostly that I'm just done."

Meg hopped up on the counter in front of him. She pulled him between her legs and hooked one hand behind his neck, tugging his head down toward her a bit so she could take a regular-sized bath towel and vigorously rub his scalp.

Dean groaned contentedly. Meg wiped the water from his shoulders and the back of his neck. "You fuckin' Cas?" He asked her, eyes closed, voice low, rolling warm in her attentions.

She chuckled, blotting the towel over the field of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and he tilted his head back slowly so she could wipe the water from his throat, "'sok, was just a yes or no question. No judgment."

"I don't know which one word answer you'd like better," she murmured slipping the bath sheet from his grasp and handing him her bath towel. He wrapped it around his hips, tucking the ends in at his waist. She pooled one end of the bath sheet on the counter next to her and working with the other end, wiped the water from his right shoulder, slipping it down his arm. She wrapped his hand in the towel and placed it on her thigh where she dried his fingers with close attention. He kept his hooded eyes on her face as she worked, just waiting her out.

"Not since he brought you home after your dinner out."

"But before? After I left for work that day we met? He's what you came over for, yeah?" a statement and an observation, just awaiting confirmation. 

"Hmmm." She began working on his shoulder spending a little extra attention than was strictly necessary on the pentagram tattoo over his heart. She traced it with her fingers and he hummed, eyes closed. She returned to his right arm and hand, and he groaned again as the heavy towel dragged along the sensitive skin of his inner arm.

"That OK with you?" he asked tugging a strand of hair hanging in her face and tucking it behind her ear. A brush of fingers along her neck.

She murmured in honeyed appreciation, " 's fine."

"But," and he tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eyes, "you'd rather I weren't fucking up your thing?"

And that made her smile, warm and kind, "he really likes you. And I s'pose I do too, for that matter." Lightened with a  saucy wink "But, you're ..."

"Reactionary. And I make assumptions. I don't pay enough attention. And I don't ask enough questions. Also, I'm dickish?" He laughed at himself. Like it was nothing.

"I was going to say something more like cautious, or anxious, or insecure." Turn around, let me get your back."

He let a low growl creep into his voice and moved in close, mouth inches from her ear, hands on the counter on either side of her thighs, "gorgeous girl, I am  _in no way_ insecure."

She laughed low and dirty and pushed him back, "not talking about your body, which is a masterwork, by the way, I meant like that whole thing you just did with the self critique and the self blame. Maybe it's not insecure, but whatever all of that is. Now turn the fuck around."

He humored her and turned his back to her. She took her time wiping the line of his shoulders, along the smooth curve of the hard blade ridges, skimming down over the lines of his ribs to narrow hips and back up again. She dropped the towel and worked her fingers into his lower back thumbs circling hard and deep. A groan escaped his lips and he wallowed for a moment as any remaining tension bled out along his fingers and toes. "Come to bed with me, Meg."

She stilled. And leaned forward, resting her chin on his left shoulder. He could feel the soft breath from her nostrils on his neck. Goosebumps rose along his chest.

In for a penny, he leaned back into her soft breasts and her arms automatically wrapped around his chest. Just in case his message wasn't damned fucking clear - because he was honestly trying to learn all this communication stuff they were trying to teach him - he unhooked the towel from his waist, let it drop to his feet, and pressed his weight back against her, damp water-heated skin against hers, cool and dry, a delicious contrast in texture. gods. He moaned softly.

She whispered mouth close to his left ear, "cheating on Cas with me?"

He turned, taking her face in his hands. "I may be slow, but I'm figuring some stuff out."

She glanced at his lips, and then back to his eyes, raising an eyebrow that said 'oh?'

He rubbed his right thumb over her cheek, admiring the fine angled jaw and cheekbone and reveling in the realization that he could hold the entirety of her face in his two hands. 

Pulling her close so their foreheads touched, he whispered, "yes. Like, for one, if Cas didn't want us fucking, he'd have told me that very specifically. But, instead, the two of you have told me basically everything else. Like how we do what we want, how we wear our vulnerability like our skin, and how you get what you want." He rubbed two fingers gently along her jaw. "And right now, I'm standing here in my skin, and you're telling me with your body that what you want is me."

"You're smarter than you look, pretty boy." She whispered back.

"And if you and me together wasn't something that would fire up Cas, you wouldn't be putting yourself here in this room with me...  because you meet Cas' needs... too."  
  
And with that, he tilted her head in his hands and pulled her to him pressing a slow, gentle kiss to her forehead. Then another with a brush of soft tongue to her left eyebrow. Smoothing his lips and tongue down her left temple to brush another slow, heated kiss to her left cheekbone. Pulling back a hair's breadth, he looked into her eyes, molten amber and eyes-still-locked, pressed a slow, firm kiss to her closed lips. 

Maintaining their eye contact, she licked his lower lip and sucked it shallowly into her mouth, a soft nip, and then a nuzzle to his nose.  
  
Still looking deeply into those lust-heated eyes, he slid his fingers under the band of the bralette and slipped it over her head as she raised her arms. She returned her arms to the countertop and braced her feet on the edge of the cabinet door as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. Bracing her arms, gods her arms were strong and beautiful, and pushing with her heels, she raised her ass off the countertop and he slipped the shorts over the curve of her ass, down her thighs and off her feet, dropping them to the floor.

He set her back down on the counter for a moment. "Wait..." he said.

She smirked.

He grabbed his phone from its place on the towel on the floor and returned to his place between her legs, pressing his shoulder blades to her breasts. She obliged him with a giggle by wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. He shot the selfie of her sucking the shell of his ear into her mouth, his eyes hooded in pleasure. He brought the snap up and they studied it together. "We are fucking hot," was her verdict, wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing her pubic bone against his spine. "Fuck, Meg" he moaned arching away from her only to press back again. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

" _Cas_ can multitask," she quipped laughing.

"Yeah, Cas the demon multitasker, I got that, woman. Hang on." And Dean sent the selfie. He typed a short text and hit send on that as well. Then he tossed his phone back to the floor, spun around, caught her face in his hands and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. She locked her legs around his waist and ground against him. He growled into her mouth. Then pulled back, forehead to hers, saying softly, "I've never done this before."

"Threesome?"

"Nah, I went to college."

They laughed together. She nipped his chin. "So, what then?"

"Threesome of this, um, configuration." And then he licked his way into her mouth again, "but gods I want to."

She smiled, predatory and damn that was sexy, " t's fine. We got you."

"You got me?"

"Always." and then she paused as if considering the weight of her words, and then deciding to play them where they lay, "If that's what you want, Dean."

He rubbed her jaw again, and in a low purr, "I'm working on that. ... Um, anything we need before, uh, he gets here?"

She laughed again, "I think there's another bottle of tequila on the bar."

"You like tequila?"

"Well, it's better when you add the skin notes."

"Jesus. That's an argument I can get behind" And then her turned around and pressed his back into her and pulled her arms around his neck and legs around his waist and carried her piggy-back through the loft to the bar where she grabbed the bottle of tres generations, "we need glasses, woman?"

"Nope! We're gonna be washing the sheets after this anyway," which should't have been as funny as it was but he was feeling the Ativan and the wet heat of her against his back and everything was pretty much perfect right then. "Hey?" He asked her. "I got Ativan, you want one?" And they both laughed as he circled his way back to the bathroom to grab the bottle.  
  
  
***

Cas and Charlie had finished their 2nd bottle of wine and were speculating aloud at the merits of opening a third. Her metabolism was truly a miracle of science and his was still burning the furnace of late summer/early fall running in Phoenix. Oh, they were drunk all right. Just not so drunk yet that they'd be feeling it in the morning, and given the gravity of the argument with Dean contrasted with the hilarious lightness of cleaning up GfM with his friends, getting shitfaced tonight wasn't the worst idea Charlie had ever had. 

She'd asked about Dean, of course, but he'd mostly just told her Dean was sorting through his own feelings and she had nodded knowingly. The thing that almost everyone who isn't hetero knows is that being non-het-whatever is a lot like living in a parallel universe with slightly different rules, norms, values, and language. (Sometimes more than slightly.) And pulling people from one universe to another is a transition. And, like Charlie wasn't saying Dean was (or even wasn't) het, because he _said_ he was bi, and people get to be what they say they are, the end, but Dean was (gods, was he ever) the ideal, right? Tall, strong, brave, beautiful, male, elder brother, stand-in-father, enforcer of the law and protecter of the vulnerable. That was a lot of archetype to carry around in his backpack and no one was judging Dean if he needed a fucking minute to figure out how his own needs and desires (and how he saw himself, yeah? because that's whole thing in and of itself) worked into all of that.

Charlie got it. And if she had anything to say about it, she'd liked Dean enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Plus, Cas believed in Dean, which was good enough for her. So, they spent the evening planning the party at Charlie's house and talking about Eve, the new girl with all the legs and thighs Charlie was sort of seeing. 

When his phone blooped, it was in the middle of Charlie waxing poetic about the tattoo of a rosary Eve had around her ankle and across the top of her foot. It reminded Cas he'd wanted to ask Dean about the pentagram on his chest and the longitude and latitude tattooed across his ribs. 

"Take her up to Sedona for the fall colors and hiking."

"You think?" Charlie asked. She picked up her tablet and started poking at it.

"I do. Amara is nice and not too overtly romantic. Get a room creekside."

"Nice," Charlie added approvingly as she clicked and surfed. Hmm. Maybe the weekend after Halloween. If she can endure our people at the party, she'll be able to handle a weekend away."

Cas' phone pinged a new message and he picked it up...

His pulse hammered in his ears and his eyes narrowed as he looked at pic Dean had sent. The hunger danced across Meg's face and Dean's mouth was open in an o-shaped wanton gasp. Cas licked his lips. He scrolled to the next message and stilled ...  

 

Detective Dean 2:50AM

we started without you

 

Cas thumbed open the Uber app and called a car. His ride was nine interminable minutes away. 

"Charlie, I'm going to grab a super quick shower and go"

"Hmmmm?" Charlie said while still poking at her tablet. 

"Better offer," he told her, standing up and leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"You sober enough to follow through with all of that?" she asked him making a circular gesture at his crotch.

"Think so, but if I'm not, I can always watch. Not exactly a consolation prize there."

"Cas, this might be one of those rare occasions when the lesbian bestie does. not. want. to. know."

"Love you," he told her laughing and heading for the door into the house.

"I love you too!" she called after him.

 

***

At 5'2", Meg, even with the firm, dense muscle of her arms and legs, couldn't weigh 120 pounds, and he could easily bench press twice that on a bad day, and with a hangover, tyvm. She was nothing in his arms. Just enough weight and warmth to get his blood roiling. Pausing against a wall to feel her up, explore her mouth, and move her around to his front, Dean reveled in the taste and feel of her skin against his tongue. She smelled like something spicy and leathery and maybe smoky incense. "What's that perfume?" he mumbled through a series of sucking kisses along the finely corded tendons of her throat.

"Black Afghan" she told him, "it's Mad et Len. Cas gave it to me last year after I" she swallowed a gasp "... it was a gift," she clarified breathy and wanting as his fingers slipped over her ass to pull her impossibly closer.

"It's very naughty," he told her, firmly nuzzling her neck and licking his way up her ear.

"I should have asked you this before," she murmured tipping her head back against the wall to expose more of her neck. Gods. That hot mouth.

"Hmm?" His left arm held firmly under her ass, her back pressed to the wall, his right hand free to wander, and he used it, sliding it over the curve of her ass, then down between her cheeks to slip over the warm wetness between her legs. She growled and he smiled against her throat.

"I was going to ask if you were any good with those beautiful fingers of yours but .."

"Fingers. Lips. Tongue." He murmured nibbling the shell of her ear and then flicking his tongue to lick the inside. She shuddered and he hummed in approval and nipped her earlobe. "I got you, baby."

She gasped as his little finger teased at her entrance. And then she smacked his shoulder, "you're pretty confident in your girl game for someone with a cock." 

He laughed low and dirty, pulling her close and breathing in her hair, "women are easy." And then he lifted her from against the wall and carried her to the bed where he laid her down gently, took the tequila bottle from her hands, moving it to the night table, and then he settled in between her legs to place a series of sucking kisses across her flat belly. .

Meg pressed her hands into the bed and tugged herself higher, placing her head on a pillow her body spread out before him. She reached for the tequila, tilted her head back and took two swallows. "How so, cowboy?" she asked him with a smirk. He sat up, took the bottle, and pulled a long healthy swallow before replacing it on the night table.

Then he picked up her bare right foot and placed a sucking kiss over her instep, sliding his tongue up the bottom of her foot to take the ball into his mouth and suck and bite luxuriously. She moaned long and low arching her back off the bed.

He pulled her big toe into his mouth and nipped it, then sucked it and her other toes into his mouth, capturing her gaze in his glowing green eyes as he licked and sucked, an overt reference if she'd ever been given on. "Women are about stimulation. And since giving it to them," he nipped her arch again and then ground his teeth firmly on her heel smiling against her foot as she gasped again, "is a fucking delight. Satisfying a woman is easily the best time I ever have."

"Hmmmm." Cas said from across the room. "That sounds something like a challenge."

Meg reached up and pulled Dean into her arms, resting his head on her breast an wrapping her arm around him. He curled comfortably into her side, both of them staring up at Cas.

Cas stared back. Time slowed and separated fragmenting in a thousand different directions. But here in Cas' bed it narrowed to a single, fine point.

Keeping his eyes locked on Cas', with very slow and very exacting precision, Dean extended his tongue and licked expansively over Meg's nipple. She gasped but held him firmly to her side, her expression a challenge to Cas' open hunger.

Cas' eyes were deep blue orbs lit with desire and aggression. Dean stared back until Cas pulled his shirt over his head and toed out of his shoes. Then Dean rolled over onto Meg and sucked her nipple into his mouth slipping his right hand down her ribs and his left between her legs rubbing impossibly gentle circles against her clit. 

Dean heard fabric rustle behind him as Cas sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed. And to think, before he'd met these people, Dean thought that end-of-the-bed benches were where you put on you shoes.

Meg slipped her arms under his and pulled him to her mouth where she savored him in a deep, wet kiss while he continued to rub those maddening circles with his left hand. She moaned against his lips and he kissed her again, gently. "I got you, baby. Let me take care of you."

"Gods, Dean." Castiel whispered. "You two are so beautiful."

"Dean," Meg breathed against his lips and he felt her clit stiffening against his fingers. Yeah, that was his cue.

All muscle and masculinity, Dean slid down the front of Meg's body, hands tight on her hips to hold her steady, and his lips found her clit, sucking in the heady taste and scent and that hard little nub. She gave a sharp gasp and arched but he held her still and began to lap at her labia in earnest, musky sweet against his tongue. 

He felt Cas hands on his ankles and  shivered in the thrill of hedonism as Cas slipped his hands up Dean's legs, palming his ass, and then rolling to his side to lie next to them, lips on Meg's nipple, hand settling on the back of Dean's neck with, and maybe Dean imagined this, a touch of possession.

Dean slid his hands beneath Meg's thighs and pulled her knees up to give himself deeper access. Rubbing soothing circles into her thighs with his thumbs, he thrust his tongue inside her. "Fuck!" she hissed, and he smiled because feedback was fucking awesome. He fucked her with his tongue while Cas moved up her body to suck at her neck. Meg was panting shamelessly now. Dean's nervous system was overloaded with the taste and smell of her, the softness of her skin beneath his hands, her body an inspiring blend of petite and ferocious, the sheets brushing against the hypersensitivity of his skin and the hardness of his cock. And gods the view. Megs and Cas naked and spread out before him. Angels wept.

Meg moved her hands into his hair and tugged in warning, and he growled in pleasure and approval, and she tightened her fingers in response and came screaming. He licked and kissed her through it, hands holding her firmly as she flew apart.

Cas wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his neck. Dean sat up to admire them. Time telescoped again as Meg panted aftershocks into Cas' neck and Cas laid gentle kisses anywhere he could reach. He laid her down gently and then sat up, knees bent, arms wrapped casually around his legs. 

Dean let his gaze wander overtly down Cas' body letting his desire flood his eyes. Slowly, so slowly he dragged his eyes up over those long, strong legs, that thick, hard cock, that long, narrow torso rippling with muscle, that firm chest and broad square shoulders, coming to rest in the midnight lust-blue of Cas' eyes. Dean had about two seconds to consider the heat and edge there before Cas moved, fast and sure, pulling and flipping Dean and pinning him to the bed next to Meg.

Dean grunted in surprise as Cas straddled his hips and ground against him. Meg laughed in predatory glee but Dean didn't have a moment to consider the meaning behind that before Cas was licking, biting and kissing his way down Dean's body. Meg rolled to her side and began sucking at Dean's neck. With her hand she raised his chin to give herself better access to his throat while Cas nibbled and sucked at the tattoo on his ribs. 

38.9717° N, 95.2353° W

33.4484° N, 112.0740° W

Meg licked his lips and he opened for her, but she continued licking herself from his chin, lips, tip of his nose, erotic as hell and at least as wanton. She nipped his lip hard and he opened his eyes and looked at her face in surprise. She winked at him and got up on her knees, one hand on the headboard. She quirked an eyebrow in question. "Oh, fucking hell, yes!" 

Wiggling beneath Cas, Dean settled his head back on a pillow and shimmied his shoulders so his back was flat on the bed arms wide at his sides, "Jesus woman, get over here."

 Meg laughed again and with sinewy grace raised her body and settled her knees one on either side of his head, straddling but not touching his face. "Fuck," he moaned looking up at her body above him. With both hands on the headboard to steady herself, she lowered herself until she was not quite touching his lips with her pussy. He caught her hips in his hands and lowered her to his mouth lapping at her and groaning against her clit. So fucking erotic.

Cas jacked him slowly and the feel of his cock in Cas' hand sent explosive messages across his already over-loaded nerves. He growled low in his chest and jerked his hips up into Cas' hand. "You two are glorious," Cas told them. "You. Fuck."

And then with one single squeeze of his hand as warning, Cas took Dean wholly in his mouth. Dean felt his frayed nerves white out completely as the thinking parts shut down entirely and all that was left was sensation - heat, taste, scent, softness, a scrape of teeth, breathy moans, the flutter of his own eyelashes, the firmness of muscle beneath his hands, the suction on his cock, the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Meg came screaming, throwing her weight forward against the headboard and grinding herself onto his mouth. Fuck. He opened for her and pressed his tongue firmly for her to rub and circle her hips. She was still screaming when the coiling tightly at the base of his spine sprang with heat and light, and the orgasm ran out all fire and flicker along his arms and legs, along his spine, crashing through his pounding heart, and he saw spots before his eyes. He kept sucking at Meg - fingers, toes, face numb, because fuck it he was flying oh so goddamn high ...  
  
and then boneless darkness.

Time stretched out and snapped back again, seriously, Ativan for life!, and he felt rather than saw the shifting on the bed.

When he came back to himself, Cas was sitting next to him in bed, his back to the headboard, and Meg was straddling his lap. She rode Cas as she sucked the taste of Dean from his mouth. She pulled back and pressed the index and middle fingers of her right hand into Cas' mouth where he sucked them enthusiastically. Glancing down at Dean, Cas met his eyes and Dean mustered a small smile intertwining his fingers through Cas'. Meg locked her left hand on the headboard, fingers of her right hand still firmly in Cas' mouth, and began thrusting her hips in earnest. Even with all three of them on it, Dean heard the bed frame creak. Gods, Meg was so strong and sexy. Dean let his head loll as Cas leaned his head against the headboard and let his eyes roll back. They breathed together - the sounds of their bodies thrusting together. The rhythmic motion of the bed hypnotic. Meg and Cas came together in that kind of fully synchronous pleasure you only earn from practice. And goddamn was it beautiful to see.

Later, there was shuffling and rustling of sheets, and Dean was maneuvered around to bring Meg close against his chest in his arms, while Cas spooned against his back. He was so warm and relaxed, literally sinking into the mattress and melting into Meg's lithe and soft body. He sighed and breathed in her hair. "Sleep, cowboy," she told him. And he did.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's a plot in there somewhere. Maybe if you squint. Are you squinting?


	23. Even a Grey-Area Badass Needs Her Tea With Lemon and Other True Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short scene with breakfast and some progress on the case maybe. I stole the 'dancing around the kitchen counter' trope and turned it into something else.

Dean woke pliant and warm, limbs a silky drag against the sheets. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked in the late morning light -- Cas' place. Fingers of his right hand brushed Solo's soft fur, and he rose slightly off his pillow to see his cat snugged against Cas. She was dozing pressed to Cas' ribs, and he had his left arm around her. Her tail flicked lazily against Dean's fingers. So cute. Rolling to his side, he watched Cas' slow deep breathing - messy dark hair stuck against his forehead, face softened by sleep, he looked younger, boyish. Meg was on Cas' right side, half sprawled over his chest, hair spilling over her face. He felt light, not still floating on the orgasm or the thrill of taking himself off the leash and letting himself get out of hand for once. No, he felt unburdened. And then he felt the warm affectionate smile spread over his face.

So, this was something new.

Carefully, so as not to wake them, Dean slipped out from beneath the sheets. Solo gave him a lazy yawn and settled her heavy head down on Cas' arm. Yeah, super cute. He brushed his teeth and started the shower. He grabbed the pink pepperpod bath and shower gel from the side of the tub and brought it into the shower -- it's not like there wasn't space on the shelves. And it was a gift, after all. He relished the warm water, the spicy sweet scent, the rainfall sounds of the shower, the slip of suds in his hands, the warm slide over his skin. Pancakes, right? Pancakes are the appropriate breakfast-after-epic-sex food. He could text Jess and ask her, and that thought made him smirk. Out of the shower and into Cas' closet, he found a soft calf-length bath robe on a hook. Finders, borrowers.

The pancakes were stacked on a plate in the warming drawer, the coffee brewed and holding in a carafe he'd found digging around in a cupboard, maple syrup warmed and in a little pitcher, some fresh berries, peaches, and bananas sliced and in a bowl, and the bacon was in the oven when he realized the shower was running. He set plates, mugs and silverware on the counter. Cas wandered into the kitchen in just boxers, hair damp, eyes still adorably sleepy. Dean smiled, filled a mug and pushed it across the counter toward Cas who ignored it, walked around the counter and pulled Dean into a slow, sensual embrace whispering, "hey you" against Dean's neck. Dean allowed himself to melt into Cas' body and indulged his new textures obsession by running his fingertips lightly down the knobs of Cas' spine, feeling the fine, smooth skin, heated from the shower. 

Cas moaned low and tugged the belt to pull Dean's (borrowed) robe open, slipping inside to press chest to chest. He slid his left hand up Dean's ribs and settled his right hand on Dean's ass. "I woke up without you," Cas growled rubbing delicious stubble against Dean's jaw. Dean smirked into grumpy!Cat-Cas' damp hair and whispered soothing nonsense enjoying just the feel of skin, nails, stubble. Cas rested his head on Dean's shoulder and Dean leaned back against the pantry door, just holding Cas against him. "And I woke up to you having absconded with my cat. I knew this would happen."

"Jealousy is a wasted emotion, Dean."

"Still my cat, asshole."

Their chests rumbled together in low chuckles. "Should we wake Meg," Dean asked?

"Meg is awake," she said walking into the room in another of Cas' t-shirts with Solo in her arms. "Feed us, already."

Dean pulled the bacon out of the oven and removed it to a paper-towel lined tray while Cas dished up pancakes and poured coffee. Meg, for her part, sat on a barstool and snatched pieces of fruit from the bowl with her fingers. It was easy and carried none of the awkward undercurrent Dean usually experienced the morning after when you're wondering if they liked you as much as you liked them, or worse how to navigate that it was fun but you're not looking for more than this when they've got that faraway look in their eyes imagining what you're going to look like handing out presents from beneath the tree to your 1.7 children. 

"I got to get to work later," Meg told them both digging into her pancakes. "Roman wants an escort to the symphony tonight. What are you doing?"

"I don't have to back at the office until tomorrow," Dean added topping off their mugs with hot coffee, "Cas?"

"Mmmmm," Cas said sipping his coffee laced with agave syrup. "Bladerunner, the original cut, is showing at Indian Steele Park tonight, and I'd thought about going, but, we've probably got some adulting to do first."

"What kind of adulting?" Dean asked thumbing his phone open. Jess had responded to his question about appropriate breakfasts for the morning after epic sex with "breakfast in bed, dumbass." Neither she nor Sam had invited him over today, so Jess must have told her oversized husband Dean was occupied. 

"Speaking of adulting, there's something I want to bounce off you," Meg offered snatching a piece of bacon off Dean's plate. He yanked it out of her hand and then held it to her lips to feed it to her. Just for the record, Dean knew all about his supposed oral fixation (obsession? fetish?), Freud was a sexist asshole, and he had no intention of doing anything other than reveling in it. Meg giggled and swatted his hand away when he brushed his fingers against her pouty lower lip. "You wrecked my voice last night, so let me get this out before I go completely hoarse."

Dean gave her his cockiest smirk, and Cas moved around the kitchen filling the electric kettle and digging around in the cupboards for lemon tea and mesquite honey. 

Meg described her interactions with Roman and his people, and her suspicions that she was in place because she made a pretty good alibi. She mentioned in passing she'd testified in both federal and military courts. Dean hadn't spent a ton of time thinking about who Meg was outside the confines of their personal bubble. But hearing her talk - breaking down the movements of Roman since he'd arrived in town, his schedule that was equal parts opaque and deliberately public, his business dealings in front of her and the ones she suspected, Dean's impression of her crystallized. He knew she was smart, Dean liked all manner of women, but he only got naked with the smart ones and/or the talented ones. A tattoo artist, a history teacher, a civil engineer, a paralegal, a musician. There was a hair stylist once who did weddings and fashion shows -- he'd never looked so well-groomed than when he was with her. Meg had been outpacing him since the moment she woke him up in bed just a couple of short weeks ago, so he knew she was smart. But, listening to her, he got that cool-critical read on her that he had on the PD's gang and organized crime (these often intersected, for example, the survivalists in the desert compounds with ties to white nationalist prison gangs) officers. She had a small outline of a skeleton key tattooed low on her left hip, which alone could have meant anything. But that key paired with her recall, her attention to detail, her physical fitness, and her analytical chops, and he'd put money on former intelligence - maybe Army. She had a burn scar on her right arm and pock marks maybe from shrapnel on her left calf. And she didn't like sleeping alone but she didn't like being tied to one place either. Yeah, she was one of those people Uncle Sam sent into the desert with suitcases full of unmarked bills, he'd bet on. And he'd bet he could trust her assessment of Roman and his operation. 

"So, you're saying Roman is behind this?"

She nodded putting her mug on the counter and accepting the soothing honey-lemon-tea Cas made her with a grateful smile. 

"That makes a lot of sense with what I'm looking at," Dean told her. "These crimes, as much as they're supposed to flare up emotion, have a kind of detached professionalism to them. They're destabilizing the local business owners' coalition ... wait. Sam is a member of Local First, are you, Cas?"

Cas nodded at him, "although I prefer to provide financial support rather than attend meetings. Kevin usually goes for us."

Cas grabbed a tablet off the charger in the kitchen where it was mostly used to find recipes and browsed to the Local First website. He pulled up the member list and pushed the tablet in front of Dean,"most of the small business owners downtown are members of Local First. It may be a coincidence."

"OK," Dean said scrolling through the list, he'd known this already since they'd been canvassing the public events as part of their awareness raising, but there was still something here.

"So, what do we do about it?" Meg asked. 

"Could you ask Roman?" Cas asked her. "Would he tell you knowing your non-disclosure-agreement protects him?"

"He might," Meg replied thoughtfully sipping on her tea. "This is good, thank you," she squeezed Cas' hand. "But I don't think that would be enough. I think we'd have to stroke his ego."

"How do we do that?" Cas asked.

"Wait,  _we_ don't do anything," Dean told them both. "I do the doing, you people do the thinking." Meg gave him her dirtiest smile, and he clinked his coffee mug to hers, "damn straight, woman."

Cas rolled his eyes affectionately and set more tea on to brew.

"Roman really values loyalty. He's got people who jump when he snaps his fingers. Quiet young men with no clear job descriptions come and go on his say so. But he treats me like a trusted ally. Like having someone like me on his arm puffs up his ego. He reminds me of a developing world faction leader in that regard. Acknowledging him and his seat at the table puffs him up."

"No offense, Meg, because you're clearly some kind of sketchy, gray-area badass, but are you saying a commercial developer with hundreds of millions in the bank gets off hanging around with a former intelligence operative?"

Meg quirked her eyebrow at him seemingly unwilling to confirm or deny. And what would be the point anyway? "He's a classic narcissist, didn't I say? The money isn't enough, he needs people to fear him and defer to him. He admires strength and confidence, things he secretly lacks. He'd eat up your attention, Dean. You're the sexy, single brave detective all over the news."

Dean blushed, "I don't know about all over the news."

"I do. Keeping an eye on developing stories is part of my job. And you're everywhere. Not just you and those kids, but your efforts in these robberies. There are pics of you at crime scenes looking sexy and authoritative. There are pics of you and your partner pushing back on reporters. There are pics of you dancing with a couple of tween boys on the sidewalk at First Fridays. You're photogenic and someone in your public relations department has no problem putting your face forward as the young, get-it-done gun of the Phoenix PD."

Dean looked at Cas for confirmation. Not that he didn't believe Meg because if anyone was going to analyze news feeds, it was she, but suddenly he started to get the sense of how overprotective Jess and Sam had been lately and why that might be. 

"Charlie may or may not be keeping a file of all your news mentions, which she may or may not save to our shop server so we can pull them up and admire them when it gets slow" Cas said as he cleared the dishes into the dishwasher.

"Oh my god," Dean groaned into his hands covering his face.

"You're very pretty, Dean," Meg was smirking at him.

Dean threw a banana slice at her and she caught it in her mouth. Then she continued, "but back to what Cas said about what we can do. I think it'd just be good to put you in a room with him, Dean. Introduce you in a social context where he can try to impress you. Maybe do a little alpha male posturing to make him want to impress you. He's re-opening Hexx in Old Town Scottsdale later this week. I'm not working the opening, but I'm on the list as a VIP guest. Let's dress up, put on our dancing shoes, and put you on his radar."

"And how would we do that?" Dean asked, considering this. Nothing about bumping into a private citizen who wasn't even a suspect yet at a private event was even a little bit shady. Shady-ish. Nope.

"You're our boyfriend," she told him patting his arm like this was all a forgone conclusion. Which, ok. It was. Or had become so at some point between the cat absconding and the pepper pod shower gel situation. The new thing that was thrumming away behind his heart. The light thing. Ok. "Alexa, play '[Don't let me down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Io0fBr1XBUA&index=8&list=PLKvWsriongWaOBwWAh6aRO6pXVZkvHcau)' by the Chainsmokers," Meg said and Alexa began thrumming a dance beat and Daya's sultry alto. She raised her arms above her head, closed her eyes and synced her feet with the beat, taking the few steps to Cas who was watching her with an amused smile and heated eyes.

Cas stepped up to Meg and slid his hands loose over her hips. She moved to the beat pressing her body up on Cas' as he slipped into her sultry rhythm. They were mostly naked dancing in the kitchen, and Dean couldn't take his eyes off their long limbs and smooth skin. Meg turned and ground her ass against Cas, and he wrapped his arms around her and matched her hip sway. For a bit more than three minutes, Dean's eyes focused only on their lithe fluid bodies, their tight spins, their palms and fingers skating over bare skin, their faces flushed in obvious arousal until the song stopped and Cas roughly bent Meg forward over the kitchen counter to suck a hickey into the back of her neck as she pressed her ass back against his hard cock in his boxers. Goddamn.

Dean swallowed hard, "Fuck. I'm sold. I guess we're going clubbing."

Meg went limp in his arms and Cas released her from where he had her pinned. She kissed his cheek and then she kissed Dean's. "I trust you to take care of this situation, Winchester," Meg said cocking her head in Cas' direction. "I've got to get to work. I don't know when or if I'm getting in tonight, but we're doing dinner tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes," Cas replied voice still rough and sex-inflected, gods these people were going to kill him, Dean thought. 

"K." Meg said finishing the last swallow of her second cup of Cas' soothing tea. "I'll text if I can. But I'll definitely be here at 8 tomorrow."

And then she was gone across the hall.

 

***

The kitchen clean, Dean caught Cas' wrist and pulled him close, "what's this adulting we're doing?" With his free hand, he palmed the hard length of Cas who hummed in appreciation.

"Nothing exciting," Cas rumbled. "The usual: do we have clothes for the week, is there enough food, does Solo need anything, and now I'm adding do we have clothes for a VIP section of a club opening."

Dean's phone spilled out Bobby's ringtone. "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," he said in exasperation. Cas just laughed, thrust his cock into Dean's hand and whispered, "I'll handle this myself in the shower. "

"Fuck my life," Dean snarled and connected the call, "Winchester." As Bobby started in, Dean watched that very fine ass clad in very thin cotton sashay out of the kitchen and it took just about every ounce of self discipline Dean possessed to not drop his phone in the sink and follow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm headed out of town for a week tomorrow. Don't know how much writing I can do. I'll miss all y'all.


	24. That Live 'Til You're 90, Die In Your Sleep Business We're Not In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby breaks the case, Dean and Jo meet the press, some Winchester family bonding. 
> 
> I'm back from my travels and back to writing this fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In CH23 I said the club Roman was opening was Myst, but upon reflection, I didn't really enjoy my couple of visits to Myst back in the day. So, I went back and changed the club name to Hexx, which is fictitious, but I'm basing it on my memories of [Club Maya](https://www.instagram.com/mayaclubaz/) which is a decent scene. If you can tolerate the Spring Training tourists. This wont matter for another chapter or so, I think.
> 
> I updated the tags to add recreational drugs. Weed is legal in this story. In real life, it isn't legal in Arizona yet, but it will be, sooner rather than later seeing as it has passed as a ballot measure in 2010 and failed narrowly in 2016 against a powerful campaign of out of state pharmaceutical money. Why will it eventually be legal? The same western libertarian sentiment that led to legalization in Colorado, Oregon, Washington, and California. Yes, I am a political wonk in my other life.

"Winchester," Dean growled into the phone eyes tracking Castiel, all smooth skin stretch over muscled strength and grace, as he walked away leaving Dean in the kitchen wanting and irritated. OMFG, weekend, anyone?

"Yeah, I don't exactly want to be talking to you either, but I need you to get your ass to Cairde, pronto," Bobby's voice was terse and low.

Shit.

"What's going on, jefe?" Dean was instantly wary. Very little rattled Bobby, and a rattled Bobby was a quiet Bobby. Shit shit shit.

"I'll tell you when you get here. I already called Jo. And I need you to put on a suit. You're going to be on camera."

"Bobby? No, Bobby..."

"Look, kid, I'm sorry. But this pub is popular with the money types and the press are all over it. The brass wants you to do a quick briefing back at the station. So get down here, look around, and then I'll drive you back to the station to meet with the Chief's office and then do the presser."

"Bobby, no. that's not what Jo and I do. We're shoe leather and muscle ..."

"Not Jo. She's too junior. But, she can stand next to you at the podium and be your enforcer. Yeah, I can sell that to the Chief." 

"Sir," Dean tried for formal and a directional shift, "the community relations officers are great at this and can earn us a lot of good will..."

"Detective!" Bobby could also do formal, and oh yeah, it stung when he pulled out his former drill sergeant persona, "you _will_ put on a suit, you _will_ get in a car with your partner, you _will_ meet me at the pub where _I_ will walk through the latest crime scene with you and your partner, and then _I_ will drive you both over to meet with the Chief's PR people. They want you to do a press conference in less than two hours, so _you_ need to get _your_ ass in gear."

"Yessir."

Bobby ended the call just as Jo's call was coming in.

"Hey."

"Hey, Dean. I'm coming to pick you up but I dont know where you are."

"I'm at Cas'. I'll meet you on the curb in front of Bitter & Twisted."

"Bitter & Twisted. Okay. Gimme..." Jo paused as if she were calculating the drive but he thought he heard Cole say something in the background, "ok, give us 12 minutes. Cole is going to drive us to the scene and leave us with Bobby."

"Sounds good." Dean didn't question the logistics. There were any number of ways of getting back to Cas at the end of the day. It didn't matter. 

 

***

 

The scene at Cairde was what you'd expect from an upscale urban gastro pub -- dark woods, low lights, deep seats, and an open kitchen. Liquor bottles at the bar were smashed. The upholstery was slashed. Wooden furniture was broken down to kindling and piled into a bonfire at the host's station. Bobby was standing in the doorway to meet Jo and Dean and walk them through it, and by this point, it was essentially familiar. Now that he'd identified the commonality, to Dean, the economical destruction was obvious. Everything about it was efficient and impersonal, even the pile of shattered, engraved Cairde pint glasses across the front of the bar were distant masquerading as up close.

Even the "Fuck Wallstreet!" and "Die 1%!" sprayed in red paint on the walls. Dean barely spared it a glance it felt so staged. All of it a stage.

Except one glass. One pint glass sitting alone on the bar with a roll of double-sided tape inside it. Without touching it, Bobby pointed to it. 

He just stood within arm's reach, arm extended, index finger pointing, and the connection between Bobby and the glass was both obvious and indelible. For a moment, Dean imagined that if Bobby moved, the glass would move toward him. Like they were physically connected. Bobby stood erect for a moment, and then when Jo stepped up to get a closer look at the glass, he dropped his arm and his shoulders slumped. He looked tired. Broken. Dean felt rather than saw his world tilt off its axis. The invisible blow hitting him deep and hard. He couldn't breathe. He watched Bobby closely until Bobby began to breathe again, and then Dean joined him. Slowly pulling the air in and out, chest rising and falling as his reality fell around him. Bobby was compromised. Shit.

"This is weird," Jo said as she looked at the unused roll of tape resting inside the pint glass. "Is there any reason a bar would need double-sided tape?"

Bobby's eyes met Dean's and they breathed together. Dean channeled as much love and respect as he had for the man into his eyes, his affection, his trust, his debt, his identity -- he was the man he was because Bobby had stepped up into the chasm left behind by John Winchester. Bobby had remade Dean from the shattered pieces John had scattered in his wake, reshaped him into something both more complex and more earnest than John Winchester had ever been. 

Her question unanswered, Jo looked up to Dean's gaze and followed it to Bobby's trembling shoulders. "Shit," she muttered, then louder, "I ... um ... I will be ... over there. Talking to forensics. ... Eh..yeah." And she faded into the background as Dean waited patiently for Bobby to find his words.

Bobby took a deep breath and whispered, "this is Adam."

"Adam?" Dean asked, surprised, and waited for Bobby to fill the space. A couple of minutes passed while Dean's pieces spun trying to find a new alignment. Adam was the foster son who lived with Bobby and Ellen while Dean was at the Police Academy and Sam was finishing undergrad. The brothers had moved into an apartment at the Tempe/Phoenix border, and Sam took the lightrail to campus while Dean took the lightrail to the Academy. There were a lot of hookups. A lot of alcohol. Some weed. They'd been happily out of hand for a bit there. Some lurid memories Dean only took out and drove around when he was feeling particularly isolated. Or sometimes when he was drinking with Sam and people hit on them together, yeah, they'd done that. Sometimes they'd smile at each other, and the shared filthy secrets would re-cement their bond. They'd _done_ all of that. Whatever they'd gotten up to, between work, classes, and processing their newfound adultness, they hadn't paid too much attention to Bobby, Ellen and Adam. Except for the too-infrequent family dinners. From Dean's memory, Adam was an OK kid. A gangly whip of a boy, running from an unstable and messed up home life right into the immoveable wall of unrelenting acceptance that was Bobby and Ellen. 

"Adam." Bobby whispered. "Adam, what have you got yourself into, son?"

"Bobby, how do you know this is Adam?"

"The tape."

"What about it?"

Bobby scrubbed his face with his hands. "All this time, I knew someone was sending us a message. I didn't realize the message was for me."

Dean took a deep breath and made a decision. With an easy shift of body weight and upper body strength, he vaulted the bar, found two unbroken old fashioneds, set them on the bar and poured a bit of Jack in them. He slid one over the bar next to the pint glass with the tape inside. "Bobby? What about Adam?"

Bobby looked down at his feet as he stood at the fork in the road. Dean literally saw Bobby's shoulders straighten as the decision was made. Bobby stepped up to the bar and tossed back the hard liquor. "He came to us in jeans and a ratty soccer jersey. A black garbage bag that had a couple of notebooks, a couple of pairs of socks and underwear, and a few used paperbacks. Ellen got him some more clothes." Bobby smiled fondly at some memory. 

Dean waited.

"He insisted on wearing that FFB jaguars jersey to school once a week. And one day, he came downstairs all in a huff because the hem had come unraveled in the laundry. He didn't want to miss the bus. His jaw was jutted out, like I'd even think of asking him to put on a decent shirt. I just shrugged and patched him up with double-sided tape and sent him out the door. When he aged out and moved out, even though we told him we wanted him to stay, he left that roll of tape on the dresser in his room."

"You asked him to stay?" Dean was surprised. "I didn't know that. I thought he'd gone looking for his mother."

Bobby shrugged. "We wanted him. But he ... he didn't know what to do with that."

Dean waited, counting the moments by the beat of his heart in his ears.

"This is Adam." Bobby said again.

"OK, jefe. What do you want me to do?"

Bobby turned and looked Dean square in the eyes, unwavering, "find my son, Dean."

"And what do I do when I find him?"

"Save him."

"Yessir."

Bobby nodded once, broke eye contact, turned and walked out the door. Dean caught Jo's eye, and they both followed Bobby out to his department issued sedan. Dean took shotgun and Jo climbed in back.

 

***

They rode in silence to the station. After a quick walk through the parking garage and into an elevator, they rode up to the administrative floor. A young woman in uniform led them to a conference room where they met with one of the deputy chiefs and two community relations officers. Dean and Jo let Bobby talk while they listened.

The point of the meeting was clear, with four break-ins targeting the downtown businesses, the community wanted reassurances. Dean and Jo were up. Dean would read the prepared statement. Jo would stand at his back, Bobby was insistent on this point, and look confident and dedicated. He'd take a handful of pre-approved questions from local media already cleared by the comm rel officers. At the end, he'd urge anyone with information to call the tip hotline and then thank the journalists for their time. Easy.

The Chief of police stepped into the conference room, greeted them, expressed her every confidence in their abilities to solve this case  _soonest_. They were dismissed. And the deputy chief escorted them down to the press room. 

Dean and Jo stepped up to the podium, lights and cameras creating a white glare. Dean was grateful they'd both worn navy suits. Dean's tailoring was close to his body to suit his vanity, but Jo's nipped waist jacket was downright feminine. Her hair in a tight French twist, and her lips blotted in plum stain, they made an attractive pair. Dean knew they were window dressing but he couldn't bring himself to hate it. It was the smart play, and he needed the cover of public attention to the young, ambitious detectives asking for the public's help so he could track down Adam without drawing undue attention. His foster brother. How had he let that skip his notice? It was a like a punch to the gut realizing that of all the fosters Ellen and Bobby had taken in, Adam had been with them for four, maybe five years, and somehow Dean had lost track of him. 

Dean read his statement, four crimes, four local and loved businesses, the downtown community pulling together, the investigation proceeding, the tip line. Jo at his back radiating confidence and competence.

He opened the floor for questions and took the first from Carmen Alvarez at the local Fox affiliate who asked him if these were hate crimes. He thanked her for her question and responded that they were keeping their options open, but elements suggesting hate were present in the crime scenes. Too many people were already talking about the vandalism to deny it.

Next, he took a question from Brad Oleski at the New Times who asked him if police were concerned about the crimes escalating beyond just property damage. Another softball. Of course the police were always concerned about citizen safety, and this gave Dean an opportunity to describe the community policing efforts in place and to draw attention to the hardworking patrol and beat walking units. He reinforced the need for public attentiveness alongside the efforts of the police on the beat. 

Kris O'Lachlan from the Arizona Republic was next, and he wanted to know if the hotline had produced any tips. Dean demurred to give specifics, but used the opportunity to express the department's gratitude to the community for their vigilance and engagement. He took the moment to mention the "Coffee with a Cop" event at Carly's on Wednesday afternoon when the public could meet with beat cops in the neighborhood. Coffee with a Cop was a popular community program and Dean saw the smile and nod from the community relations officer in the back monitoring the press conference.

Last question, the deputy chief called to the young man from the Phoenix Today blog, Taylor Begaye. "Detective Winchester, can you tell us how those kids from the family murders are doing?"

Murmurs rippled across the room and everyone turned to look at the dark haired, dark eyed young man. To his credit, he didn't even flinch.

Dean shuffled the papers on the podium for a moment. Then he looked up at Begaye, "Taylor, thanks for asking. I'm told they're recovering and resting in a safe foster home. Obviously, they've been through a lot. One day they'll know how this community ached for them, shed tears for them, and prayed for them." He nodded and opened his mouth to wrap up the conference for the room but Begaye wasn't finished, "Detective! A follow-up?"

Dean glanced back at the public relations officer who nodded tersely, once.

"Yes?" Dean asked, with cool professionalism.

Begaye plowed ahead, "And how are you and your partner holding up, sir?"

Begaye had earnest eyes, Dean thought. Pretty young man with straight brown hair halfway down his back and silver at his throat. He was lean, bordering on willowy, in jeans and cowboy boots. Not tall but a big presence, nonetheless. Someone to watch. Maybe a good media contact, that detached analytical part of Dean's brain told him.

The feeling part of Dean turned at the waist and looked over his shoulder at Jo who met his eyes. Loyalty and defiance glowing in them. He took her hand and squeezed it, then pulled her up next to him, sliding a half step to the left to place her in front of the microphone. She looked out over the room of raptly attentive reporters and administrators. "Dean and I are still here. We're standing with this community. We live here, we work here, we shop here, and we relax here. This community is all of our community, these businesses are all of our businesses, and these kids are all of our kids. We're all here for the duration, for whatever it takes, because we're all Downtown. On behalf of Detective Winchester, the Chief of Police, our beat and patrol brothers and sisters, and the City of Phoenix, we thank you for your attention and your time." And with that Jo pivoted and walked off the podium. Dean close at her heels. The room erupted in chatter, but they heard none of it. They kept walking right into the elevator, Jo sliding her RFID card to take them to their restricted floor. They walked right into  Bobby's office, closing the door behind them. Without a word, Bobby pulled the whiskey from his desk and poured a few fingers into three plastic cups.

***

Dean and Jo sent texts to their respective partners and set about building a background for Adam Milligan who sometimes went by Adam Singer. He'd briefly bounced around California and New Mexico doing construction jobs and then two years in the Army. Excellent record. Honorable discharge that suggested medical or psychological. Then he'd dropped off the map.

Jo reached out to the Army through official channels but it would take a few days to hear back from them. Not wanting to draw wide attention to their search, Dean made calls and sent emails to specific colleagues in neighboring law enforcement agencies. None of his friends had any information on the good looking kid in the Army's official photo. Dean sent a text to Meg saying he missed her and asking when he could set eyes on her again.

She responded, "how about dinner?  tomorrow night good for you?"

OK, so Meg wasn't coming home, but acting like she didn't know about dinner probably meant she understood he had something to show her.

"Can't wait." he replied.

She sent back a kissy face emoji which made him laugh. Jo looked up suspiciously.

"I may have a lead, but i wont know until day after tomorrow."

"OK," Jo told him. "I've done all I can do here today."

"Yeah, why don't you call Cole?"

"I will, can we drop you somewhere?"

"Nah. I'm going to Uber to Sam and Jess.'"

***

Dean walked into Sam's house and right into Jess' arms, "hey, Dean" she breathed pulling him into a long, warm embrace.

Sam walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer, opening the bottle and passing it to Dean who was just unwinding himself from Jess.

"Saw you on the news,' Sam said. "You getting closer on this thing?"

"Think so," Dean told him, "but I can't tell you anything about it yet."

Sam nodded while Jess pulled Dean down the hall into their bedroom, "Sam is taking me out tonight, help me braid my hair?" she asked hopefully.

Gods she was good, he thought again, laughing to himself just a little ruefully as he let himself be led into the distracting embrace of family.

Sam followed and sprawled on their big bed, reaching for the tablet computer on his nightstand. Dean sat on the edge of their bed and waited for Jess to come back from rummaging around in the bathroom. She returned triumphantly with a paddle brush, a couple of cans of product, and a handful of pins and clear elastics. She sat on the bench in front of Dean and he began carefully brushing through her long, heavy, blonde hair.

Sam entertained them by reading friend updates on Facebook and adding snarky commentary. "Alex just declared her relationship with August 'complicated,' and Claire commented with a sword-swinging ninja sticker. Wonder if that means this August character has been castrated or our girls are only thinking about it?" and "Jody is rocking a new haircut. Looks just like the old haircut. But she's got 120 likes."

After spraying in a little root lifter and massaging it through Jess roots while she purred like a kitten, Dean began braiding. Starting on the left side of Jess' head, Dean [sectioned off two strands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-W0yYvZX8c8) and fastened them with the clear elastics. He split one of the sections, pulled through the other, pinned up the first section, and then fastened the pulled through section to another strand of hair. Dean continued sectioning and pull-through braiding around Jess' head and then down the length of her hair. Then he pulled out the plaits to loosen them while Jess tugged on the hair at her crown to give herself some volume. Dean wrapped the long, fluffy braid around and pinned it at the nape of Jess' neck. "You know, this would be pretty if we pinned some flowers into it," Dean told her as they were finishing up tugging her hair into place. He lightly sprayed her hair with the shine serum that instantly lit up her platinum highlights. "Don't you have some autumn sage in the garden?" Jess was about to respond when Sam looked up from his Facebook commentary, "I don't even know where you two learn these things," Sam said with all the warmth and adoration.

"YouTube, bitch," Dean told him smugly.

"Jerk!" Sam replied and threw a pillow at them. Dean leapt in front of it shouting, "watch the hair! watch the hair!" 

And Jess collapsed into giggles. 

"Why don't you do that winged eyeliner thing, while Sam and I go drink another beer," Dean told her wrapping her up in another hug.

"Why don't you come to dinner with us?" Jess asked. "You're dressed up already. It will be fun!"

 "Nah, I don't want to spoil your romantic evening," Dean told her, brushing the bangs back from her face where she'd artfully drawn them. He got that bangs were sexy, but he'd argued with her from the day he met her that her eyes were fucking gorgeous and she shouldn't hide them. Well, actually, he'd first admired her boobs. But her eyes were next on his list. He swore. Yep.

"Oh, come with us, Dean. Please!" Sam gave him the puppydog eyes. Ugh. 

"Let me text Cas while you get dressed," Dean relented. 

He sent Cas a text saying Jess wanted him to come to dinner and would Cas be ok on his own tonight.

Cas sent back a pic of his bare legs in a chaise lounge in front of the patio fire with Solo lying between his calves and a note, "we're reading by the fire, Dean."

Actually, that sounded pretty good. So, he sent Cas a text saying so.

Cas sent another text saying they'd be waiting for him when he got home.

Home sounded pretty good too.

But so did the laughter coming from down the hall as Jess and Sam walked toward him looking like a million bucks of suntanned skin and sunbleached hair. Sam led them out to the waiting cab and they all crawled into the back, all long legs and entwined fingers. Like always.

***

A long, multi-course dinner led to a long after dinner walk, that led to a neighborhood bar, that led to tequila shots, that led to several games of pool, that led to them being less-than-politely asked to leave after they turned the game into a contact sport that involved tickling, swinging sticks, and very loud cursing. Jess had a serious potty mouth. And finally another cab ride, a midnight swim in Sam and Jess' heated pool and a pitcher of sangria around the fire pit on their patio. Jess was lying between Sam's legs, both sprawled on a chaise and Dean was lying in another chaise. The night smelled like jasmine and mesquite. 

 

"We almost got arrested tonight," Sam said.

"Good thing Hot Cop Dean is today's media darling. I think I only paid for one of our rounds. Other people kept sending over the others," Jess teased.

" _We_ did not almost get arrested," Dean corrected, " _your profane wife_ almost got arrested when she jumped up on that table and started shouting about being the 'fucking queen of the fucking world.'"

"Fair, point," Jess agreed tone serious, finger pointing in Dean's direction. "But what choice did I have after you rallied that end of the bar into a sing-a-long to that Chainsmokers song about how we're all never getting older?"

Sam picked a slice of orange from his glass and stripped the fruit from the peel with his teeth. "Dean's got a good voice, though."

"That I do," Dean said smugly. 

"Fuckers," Jess said, "couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it."

"You've got a really dirty mouth," Sam told her pulling her into a kiss that was all tongue. Dean smiled and let his head loll back. 

Jess pulled free and rolled her lower back into Sam's crotch. He chuckled low and kissed her neck. "You know, it's nice to see you cut loose, Dean. Haven't seen that side of you in awhile."

Dean sipped his sangria and stared into the fire. He was warm and tipsy and rolling on sibling camaraderie and that light feeling still thrumming away inside his chest.

"I'm maybe living with Cas now," Dean said to the fire.

"Is that fast?" Sam asked and then he made a soft ooofing sound as Jess shoved an elbow against his diaphragm. Dean chuckled.

"What Sam means to say," Jess corrected, "is that we're happy for you, even if we feel like we missed a few status updates in this relationship."

Dean chuckled again. "Tell me about it."

"Ha! Tell _us_ about it," Sam said. Jess rose, all sunkissed arms and legs, to refill their glasses from the pitcher on the low table. Then she settled back into Sam's arms.

"It's easy. I guess. I feel content."

"What about his ex-girlfriend," Sam asked, "is she going to be ok with you? It felt kind of possessive, her answering your phone, you know?" 

"Possessive of me, maybe." Dean said again to the fire.

"You want to explain that?" Sam asked, just genuinely curious. Sam could be protective, but Sam was also the brother who'd shared that pair of fraternal twins with him on the couch of their college apartment lit up on good weed and pheremones. 

Dean shrugged. He rolled his head to one side and gave Sam a dark smile. "She tastes like apples. Like apples with a little sea salt."

Sam hummed. "Pretty."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "And they wear the same perfume sometimes. It's like leather, smoke, woods and sex."

Sam hummed in agreement again. 

"He has pictures!" Jess inserted suddenly remembering. 

"What? Why haven't I seen them?" Sam sat up dislodging Jess and moving over to slide into the lounge next to Dean crowding him over. He held out his hand, "show me the pics."

"Dude," Dean eyerolled at him. "There's kind of a lot of dick."

"It's artful dick!" Jess added helpfully, giggling. Sam laughed, "show me the artful dick, Dean."

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and thumbed it to the photo app. "Really, Sam. Dude dicks."

"Dean, I was next to you on the couch when that guy was blowing you."

"I don't how you could have seen anything with his sister bouncing on your cock like a goddamn olympian, fuck she was gorgeous."

"Yes she was," Sam said dreamily still holding out his hand for the phone.

"How come I've never gotten in on the sordid Winchester brother's action?" Jess pouted playfully. "Seriously, I'm jealous of a whole bunch of random people I've never met."

"Dean, give me the phone before my wife tries to talk us into a replay of our greatest college hits."

Dean handed over the phone and moved to the other chaise to wrap Jess up in his arms and mumble admonishments about her dirty mind and her dirty mouth and her dirty thoughts into the ticklish spot at her throat. She squealed and once again Dean was grateful these two idiots owned about 1/3 of an acre back here full of citrus trees, jasmine and other noise breaking bushes.

Sam whistled low, "Jesus these are hot. Why are you here with us and not in bed with these two?"

"That's what I said!" Jess threw an elbow and freed herself of Dean. She stood up and dragged him up after her. Sam was already using Dean's phone to call him a cab. 

  
***

Dean let himself into the loft tucking his tie into his jacket pocket, dropping his jacket on the back of a barstool and pulling his dress shirt over his head to drop it on the couch. He found Cas on the patio with Solo wearing just a pair of shorts, smoking a joint and drinking a glass of wine. A second empty glass sat on the table next to Cas'.

Dean picked up Solo, then settled down on the chaise between Cas' legs, leaning back against his chest. He set Solo back down on their legs and she turned a few times and snuggled back in.

Cas kissed the top of his head and offered the joint to Dean who waved it off. "I don't smoke, Cas."

"I usually don't, either, but Charlie was over earlier. This is hers."

"You two have fun?"

Cas just tossed the joint into the fire and began running his hands over Dean's chest. 

"How high are you?" Dean asked low and sweet.

Cas hummed into his hair and began dragging his tongue along the shell of Dean's ear. 

Dean sat up and turned so he was straddling Cas' lap. Cas' eyes were dark, pupils blown, hands smoothing over Deans hips.

Dean leaned back a little when Cas moved close for a kiss, pressing a hand to Cas' chest, "we didn't last time, but we've really got to talk about consent."

Cas' lips curled up in a smile that was equal parts heat and indulgent, "what about it?"

And damn if that wasn't distracting. 

Dean realized his hand was still pressed to Cas' chest and he'd been brushing warm, bare skin with his fingertips.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, probably he should have been sober for this conversation. Heh.

He forged ahead anyway, "we haven't known each other long, but long enough to know we both like to drink. I don't smoke because running sucks enough without fucking up my lungs, but I'm good with edibles if I'm sure I'm going to be off at least a couple of days after. Obviously, you're not opposed." Cas laughed low at that and moved to unbutton Dean's pants. For his part, Dean didn't stop him, but he wasn't finished speechifying either.

"Cas, I'm saying we like our drugs and alcohol. And we need to agree on some ground rules because ..." he trailed off as Cas took his chin in his hand and tilted his face so they were eye to eye.

"And if I tell you I'm good with anything you want to do to me?" Cas asked, that liquid honey chuckle sliding over Dean's skin again.

"I wouldn't be sure if I should believe you because you're so chill right now, you're practically liquid." His eyes roamed over all that tanned skin. Maybe he should ask Cas to put on a shirt or something. Fuck.

Cas laughed long at that, "you know that metaphor makes no sense, yeah?" And he placed a soft kiss on Dean's jaw.

Dean pulled back again, "listen, sex-cat, you can't use your sex-cat superpowers on me while I'm trying to talk to you." This close, Dean could smell that leathery musky cologne and it was doing bad things to his brain.

"My what?"  Cas murmured leaning in to nuzzle Dean's throat. Fuck fuck.

"Cas ..."

But Cas was pressing something into Dean's hand. He sat back and stared at the folded piece of paper and looked back up at Cas whose wicked smirk was probably illegal in 18 states.

He unfolded the note. In Cas' neat handwriting was printed:

 

> I am totally sober at this moment, and I, being a kinky bastard, consent to anything Dean wants to do (with the exception of anything that smells like shit because that's just tedious. But otherwise, I'm all about it) whether I am sober or not. I like fucking either way. Signed, Castiel.
> 
>  

Beneath, in handwriting he didn't recognize was printed:

> I also am totally sober at this moment, and I affirm that Cas is a kinky bastard and that this consent thing is legit. Signed, Charlie the bestie
> 
>  

Dean stared. Was he actually having one of these bizarre conversations that included a signed consent form? 

"Cas... these conversations are starting to seem normal to me."

"Good."

"What if we just make out in bed until you feel sleepy? And then we can talk about this again in the morning?"

"Are you sure?" Cas whispered low, grazing Dean's jaw with teeth and tongue sending shimmering sparks along Dean's arms and raising goosebumps on his chest.

"Um, maybe? Unless you want to demonstrate the bite-y thing to me?"

Cas pulled Dean's hips roughly, grinding them together, and licking a stripe over Dean's jugular. "We should get tested first."

"Oh! I meant to tell you. My sister will do it. In her office tomorrow after 5. You can come with."

"Good."

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Everyone Wants What Jess is Having

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess gets off to work in a good mood, Charlie has a bad day at work. This is 40% smut with a side of sisterhood.

Dean's alarm pulled him, bleary-eyed, out of a deep sleep with a vague memory of jasmine blooms and dry lips on his throat. He'd been lying flat on his back, arms splayed, with Solo snugged against his hip. Cas was curled on his side, back to Dean, and Dean was reminded he wanted to get a closer look at that tattoo, so low on his hip, it was maybe more accurately on his ass, or his hamstring, or something. This was probably too complicated a musing-task for this early in the morning. Tugging on the sheet lightly, Dean exposed a long length of ass and thigh. Mmm. The tattoo was simplistic as plain black text -- it looked like a capital R made out of sticks. It looked like an ancient rune, Dean had dated a wiccan practitioner once. Briefly. OK, they'd hooked up twice. But he'd kind of liked her -- she was the one who told him he was a great fuck but, as a person, a little too buttoned down for her. Which probably should have been more of a blow to his ego than it was at the time. Ugh. Why was he thinking of a girl who'd dumped him when he had six feet of liked-him-just-fine curled up right here? Lying in a soft bed under comfortable sheets that smelled faintly of leather, resin and sex. Just then his snooze went off, and he was saved from further contemplation of his own angst by Cas.

Who grumbled in his sleep about Dean's alarm and dragged the sheet back up over his body to his neck. Adorable.

Dean moved grumpy!Solo over to grumpy!CatCas' side of the bed, where she burbled briefly, turned one circle and settled with a kitty sigh into the small of his Cas'. So freaking cute. And then he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. He and Jo had court prelim hearings today and then a dept policy training meeting on the new immigration legislation, and then there was the endless pile of paperwork. Plus, he was picking Cas up and going over to Jess' office for their tests, and then they were making dinner for Meg. As he jumped into the shower with his pink pepperpod suds and (someone's) rosemary-mint shampoo, he was surprised to find himself looking forward to the day. 

It wasn't that Dean Winchester didn't love his job or he wasn't great at it, it was just that court and paperwork were typically a combination that would make him crawl out of his skin until Jo bribed him with a foodtruck lunch and the use of her "fancy" gel pens.  Somehow having blood drawn and grocery shopping had become like something to look forward to.

***

Jess typically worked four 24-hour shifts with three days off a week. She was the youngest partner in her upscale Paradise Valley practice, and that meant she was on call several nights a week. Her schedule basically amounted to waking up around 5AM and checking in with the overnight OBGYN. Then she could go for a run, catch a shower, and do early morning rounds in the maternity wing. She'd grab a bite to eat on her way to their offices to see their 9AM to noon appointments, then their office closed for lunch for 90 minutes. Then she either did afternoons in their offices or in the county clinic - depending on where the partnership needed her. Since she was junior, she often went to the clinic. She made it home before 8, usually, to dinner and wine and sex, all prepared by Sam. Then she collapsed into bed with a good book and her phone on her nighttable to sleep and (hopefully not) take the nighttime delivery calls. Her "normal" was Monday through Thursday. Just about every fourth week, she had a full weekend on. Jess and Sam both worked heavy schedules, but there was a lot of flexibility in there too. He worked long hours at the sandwich shop, and she had long shifts between the hospital, office and clinic. But then they had long days and nights together too.

Monday morning, Jess rose hours before dawn and ran her five miles up to the mountain and back. At home, she stepped into the shower to sluice the sweat, sunscreen, salt and grit from her skin. She wrapped her long blonde hair in a waffle towel to soak up the water from her heavy curls. Then she added a couple of drops of marula oil to her palms and rubbed it into her ends. A few more drops went across her shoulders, between her breasts and on her elbows and knees. She toweled off any remaining water droplets and slipped quietly into the bedroom to make her way to the bench at the foot of the bed where she'd left a fresh set of scrubs, clean underpants, and a soft jersey wrap dress last night. Silently, she dressed wishing it were Sunday morning again. Sam sprawled across their bed, snoring softly, soft golden brown hair spread across his pillow. Face slack and wistful. Jesús Christo. He was so fucking beautiful that some days it physically hurt her to leave him there sleeping quietly. Yes, his body was heartstoppingly delicious (goddesses, yes. holy fuck.). And yes, he and Dean joked that Dean was the pretty one and Sam was the smart one, but that's all it was -- a family joke. Dean may have had the bone structure and the fluttery eyelashes, but Sam Winchester wore her heart and soul around his ring finger. Sam Winchester, who wanted nothing more from her than a kind word and a private smile now and then. Sam Winchester, with his emotional intelligence, innate curiosity, and fearless devotion. Sam Winchester, who buried himself in her arms, her neck, her body, like he might never have the chance to feel her again, every goddamn time. Dear Grandmother Moon, how had she gotten so lucky with this boy? 

Every time she left him there in their bed, legs twisted in their sheets and blankets, arm stretched out where she'd slipped from his grasp because of course he slept close! Of course Sam Winchester held her to his chest as he slept, nuzzling her hair in his sleep -- whispering her name, soft and low, like an intimate prayer, in his dreams. 

Her friends complained good-naturedly about their partners, about laundry, childcare, dishes in the sink, empty gas tanks, all of that. And all the while she just smiled and sipped the coffee in her travel mug, coffee poured from the pot Sam set up for her every night before he pulled her into his arms to sleep. She washed herself in organic, small batch soap he bought for her on Etsy, dried herself in Pima cotton towels he washed, dried, folded and put away, dressed herself in clean clothes from the drawers and closets he maintained, fed herself smoothies made from produce and yogurt he bought, slept in the bed he made, drove the car he kept gassed and maintained. Every moment of every day, Jess was wrapped in Sam's thoughtful embrace. Every fucking moment of every goddamn day. She studied her flushed face in the mirror and dotted on a little moisturizer and Burt's Bees tinted lip balm. Her hair would dry on her rounds this morning.

She had a C-section today. A simple procedure, but surgery nonetheless. No rings. She hooked her engagement ring and wedding band through a delicate platinum chain (a gift she found on her pillow one day, of course she did, early in her residency when he'd probably scraped together every dime he and Dean both had to buy it for her. Of course he had.) and fastened it behind her neck. She slipped into her clogs and tucked the jersey dress into her day bag. Then she leaned over the bed and place a slow, silken kiss against his warm, soft lips. He moaned low in his sleep and chased her as she pulled back, lifting one arm and hooking it around her neck. He pulled her into another simmering kiss and in a truly impressive (oh, god) show of core strength, shifted his weight, caught her waist with his other arm, pulled her into their bed, rolled them and then pressed her into the mattress beneath him as he began to lick and nibble his way from her ear to her clavicle.

They were a tangle of sheets and limbs but she couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't and wouldn't -- all Jess could do was breath in the spicy, warm scent of Sam while her hands made their way from his shoulderblades to the curve of his firm ass. Where she planted them and gave him a strong, slow squeeze. He moaned low and long as he ground his hips against her and sucked the corded tendons of her throat. Sam. She whispered it aloud as she let her head roll back exposing her neck, "Sammm.""

One of his hands was tangling in her damp waves on the pillow and the other was roaming its way down her ribs. "Sammmmm," she breathed. He was so hard, bruisingly so, against her thigh. Raising himself in a pushup on one hand (oh, gods), Sam ripped the sheets free of their legs and rolled them again so he was lying naked and exposed in the middle of the bed with Jess on top of him, one of his hands still buried in her hair. He pulled with it causing her to gasp, an opportunity he used to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She tried to pull back and he followed, rising on pure stomach muscle alone (Jesus) to pull her into his lap. "Want you," he whispered sucking around her tongue.

Naked Morning Sam was a force of nature. And who was she to deny nature? Still, she had to make a good faith effort. For some reason? Reason was rapidly leaving her as the heat pooled between her legs and her spine sang with desire. Can a spine sing? Gods she was losing her mind. She squeezed one fist forcing her blunt nails into the meat of her palm, the pain sweet and sharp, clearing her thoughts for a single moment. Long enough to speak  --

"I'm late for the hospital," she told him as he swallowed her words and then rolled his cock against her and raised his other hand to capture her head. With her face in his hands, he licked into her mouth, along her jaw, into her ear, against the pulse in her throat, "can you be fast?" she asked him as he drew his tongue down her jaw.

"No." As dark and deep as the desert at night. Just, no.

She swallowed as he rolled them again, tugging her scrubs and panties down to her knees and then sliding his body down hers to rest his face between her legs as he yanked her clothes the rest of the way off her feet and tossed them off the bed somewhere. "Sam ..." she started, but he growled (holy fuck) and pinned her thighs with his enormous Sam-hands.

"No."

Shit. How was anyone supposed to think with Sam Fucking Winchester sucking their clit? Dear goddesses, her flooded her brain with everything base, sinuous, and velveteen. And the sounds, his low moans, the catches in his breath, the friction and slip of his lips, the sucking of his mouth. No man had ever been as erotic as the younger Winchester at seven minutes before six in the morning. Never.

Surrendering, Jess pulled her top over her head exposing her sports bra. She was about to remove it too when he raised his head, catching her eyes. His pupils were blown making his gaze pitch and deep. "Leave it," he growled all teeth and desire, "for when I put you on your hands and knees."

Jess came screaming with two of Sam's fingers buried deep inside her and her clit pulled roughly between his tongue and lips. She bucked her hips and he rode her out licking and sucking until he suddenly flipped her and pulled hard on her thighs dragging her to her knees, face buried between her foreams, pressed into the mattress. He slipped off the bed to stand behind her, lined himself up, and holding her hips firmly, buried himself to the hilt inside her in one swift, brutal thrust. She screamed again, wantonly, riding that razor's edge between pleasure and pain, her body still tight and rigid from its first orgasm.

She felt an enormous hand brush gently between her shoulder blades, a gesture more possessive than soothing, and she pressed her spine up into his touch willing her body to relax and accept him. He slipped that same hand up into her long, damp waves, wound them around his palm and yanked hard, bowing her spine. She gasped, the air thrust out from her diaphragm.

He released her hair, slapped her hard and she felt the sting of his palm and fingers, the shape of him singing from the nerves of her ass. Then he grabbed her hips again and bracing his shins against the box springs, began thrusting into her with ruthless speed and depth. Sam was enormous, had she said? Fucking enormous. The first several thrusts were pain, pain, pain slamming against her cervix, and then every individual nerve in her body sparked and lit up with the fire and flame of Sam Winchester as he fucked into her. Her keening started low and rose and rose as the cervical orgasm rolled over her, spreading heat and light from her core out in concentric waves through her hips, up her spine, out her fingers, flooding her mind with nothing but the taste of blood and the sound of her own mindless screaming.

Sam hooked one huge, long arm around around her hips and the other across her chest and pulled her back roughly against his chest, hips slamming home, skin slapping, his pace furious and mindless, until he sank his teeth into her shoulder deep enough to draw blood growling and bowing against her as he came hard. Hard enough to mark them both for days. Jess lost the ability to hold herself up as her limbs went liquid and they collapsed onto the bed, Sam pressed against her back whispering mindless filth into the base of her neck, "fucking beautiful pussy wet hot i die to fuck you baby i need you never ever let you go you taste like lust is that a flavor or blood like iron and life my beautiful wife..."

***

 Jess bounced into the lounge where she met Asher, the obstetrics Supervisory NP going off shift for the night. 

"Morning, Ash!" she said, passing him an orange she'd pulled from the tree in her yard on the way out the door.  

"You're certainly glowing this morning," he told her, smelling the bitter orange oil from the freshly broken stem.

"Good run, hot shower, gorgeous morning," she told him flipping through his notes in the hospital's tablet computer. "Looks like a quiet night."

Ash nodded and began stripping the peel from the fruit in one long, winding piece of rind. "Pretty quiet, I admitted Jessica Flake-Moreno for observation, mostly because she was scared out of her mind at the bleeding. It stopped a few hours ago. I've more imaging coming in this morning you'll want to see, but I think she'll fine."

"She's just a baby herself," Jess breathed looking at the file.

"Just turned 21 last month, I think?" Ash replied. "The husband has been at her side all night. Rubbed her feet, fluffed her pillows, brought her snacks, there was a pedicure party. He's a doll. I think her mother just talked him into a nap an hour ago. Last I checked, he was curled around her in bed."

"That's cute," Jess told him absently as she flipped through the screens.

Then she looked up at the silence from Ash. "Something else?" she asked him.

"Nah." He told her, obviously shaking something off. "Just ... it's not cute, you know? It's adoration. That kid's almost 10 years older than she is, but they've got this bond, you know? Their own language. He dotes and she keeps him level. They kind of remind me of you and Sam."

Jess chuckled warm and bubbly. "Well, then. I will be very gentle with Mr and Mrs Flake," she told him. 

"Mr and Mrs Flake-Moreno," he corrected. "She's Old Pueblo Sonoran. And be warned, they speak Spanish with each other so they can gossip about everyone around them. I already told them you were muy bonita, but they just switched to ...German, I think."

Jess laughed out loud at that. "Go get some sleep, Ash."

He winked at her, "nah. I'm going home and get me some of what you've had."  
  
***

Charlie was having a tough day. Like, seriously. What. The. Fuck.

Her teaching load was one/one, which meant that she taught one course per semester. She also ran their grad program as a course release (otherwise, she'd teach two/ two). But, really, she needed to figure out how to further reduce her teaching load because she was basically chairing every doctoral committee in the department and she was sitting in on a hundred different committee meetings. Today's committee meeting was about diversity. And she repeated: What. The. Fuck.

The committee was comprised of herself, two full professors who were men in their fifties, and a male grad student. He was a nice kid from a nice family. He hadn't worked a day in his life besides summer camp counselor and undergrad research assistant, but he didn't let it stop him from trying to understand his life in context. He had friends across the cohort, he volunteered for Habitat, he tutored kids at the nearby elementary after school program, and he lived in a student hovel with three other grad students even though she was sure his parents could afford him whatever he wanted. His name was J.J. and no one in the doctoral program worked harder or showed up for more events. Including this committee meeting where his job was supposed to be the token grad student on a committee that chose a speaker to keynote their annual diversity in bioinformatics symposium. Apparently, no one told J.J. about his token role because he'd shown up today armed with spreadsheets of salaries and photocopies of offer letters --- where had he gotten those?

And J.J. wanted to know why some of the doctoral students, like himself and his research partner Nico, were paid more than the other students in the program, including the women and the international students. And, goddamn if that wasn't a good question. Why indeed?

Charlie and one of the senior dudes agreed that this was problematic because if you want a competitive program, you've got to pay people, and if you want to build a strong, vibrant cohort, you've got to pay everyone the same. The other senior dude disagreed with everything. He disagreed that this was an issue. He disagreed that it was an issue for the diversity committee. He disagreed that grad students had any say in their own compensation. He disagreed that he should even have to listen to this drivel.

It got ugly. Charlie asked J.J. to leave the room so they could discuss the matter before any more bullshit was said about the worthlessness of grad students. And then she spent another precious hour of her life trying to persuade a pompous assbutt that fellowships were the way to reward exceptional research, not teaching stipends. She got nowhere.

Then she charged the chair's office. He agreed with her in principle, but he hadn't authorized the doctoral offer letters. Those had come from the retired chair and the interim chair.  And no, they simply couldn't raise everyone's stipends to the same  amount because there was  _literally no byzantine method by which that could be accomplished._ For reals. She was stymied by a LACK OF bureaucracy. 

What. The. Fuck.

By the time she got back to her office with her gigantasaurus Americano with two extra shots, she was fuming bordering on volcanic eruption. And then there was her email. The informatics scholarly listserv she belonged to had blown up in a discussion about the correctness, or lack thereof, of the information science-ing in the latest oped in HuffPo (who the fuck cared? answer: everyone on the list. and they all had replied to list. repeatedly. dear goddesses.) And, to rub lemony-salt in her wounds, she had an email from her monograph editor that they were having trouble securing the rights to reprint a couple of internet memes. They couldn't figure out who to email to ask for permission, and could she help them out. Internet. Memes. She was going to stab everyone.

 

Charlie 3:44PM

omfgbbq! this fucking day!

 

Cas 3:44PM

what's up, princess buttercup!?

 

Charlie 3:45PM

I am going to stab everyone

 

Cas 3:45PM

everyone, everyone? or just everyone?

 

Charlie 3:46PM

every-fucking-one!

 

Cas 3:47

um, maybe we can negotiate? murder is bad. how about just poking them real hard with a pencil eraser?

 

Charlie 3:48PM

you think you're cute just because you're fucking a cop

 

Cas 3:49PM

i think i'm cute because i'm cute. i'm fucking a cop because he's hot

 

Charlie 3:49PM

uggggghhhhhhhhh i'm not fucking anyone

 

Cas 3:50

what happened to eve?

 

Charlie 3:51

she went back to her ex

 

Cas 3:51

this sounds like a wine/whine session is in order

 

Charlie 3:52

nah. you have hot cop and that sweet ass gf tonight

 

Cas 3:53

come over anyway! we want you

 

Charlie 3:53

heh. no.

 

Cas 3:54

not like that! like, come over and eat our food and brainstorm with us

 

Charlie 3:54

brainstorm? are you and meggles plotting world domination again?

 

Cas 3:55

confidential brainstorming. come on. we'll be there and cooking by 7

 

Charlie 3:56

i admit that i am intrigued by the confidential storms of the brains

 

Cas 3:57

well, when you say it like that...

 

Charlie 3:57

ok. world domination or no, i'll be there at 7. what can i bring?

 

Cas 3:58

just yourself. maybe pjs in case we go late

 

Charlie 4:00

ok but i'm not doing your pretty people gay-ish orgy thing

 

Cas 4:00

no pretty-people-gay-ish orgies tonight. i promise

 

Charlie 4:00

lol just "tonight"

 

Charlie 4:01

you're super reassuring there, Cas-anova

 

Cas 4:01

<3 you too

 

***

Cas met Dean at Jess' practice at 5:30PM. Dean introduced Jess to Cas and his sunshine sister immediately swept Cas up into one of her irresistible hugs. With sparkling stars in his eyes, Cas melted into her embrace. She really did give the best hugs. They chattered at each other for a minute about how glad they were to meet each other and how much they'd heard about each other and they hoped it was all good, fuck that, they were swearing like sailors and skidding right into anal toys when Dean waded in to shut that down.

"Hey hey hey! You two just met. Can we get through maybe a family dinner or a birthday or something before you pervs get all porny and shit?"

Cas had the decency to look chastised but Jess just hooked her arm through Cas' and glared balefully at Dean. "Don't start with me, Dean. I need a Cas in my life, don't I, Cas?" and she hipchecked him. He laughed at her and smirked at Dean, "I read Cosmo for the articles," her told her in unblinking seriousness.

"So do I!" Jess squealed, "Ten things you're not doing with your scrunchy!" 

"Five ways to blow him (and his mind) tonight!" snarked Cas.

"How kinky are you? The definitive quiz!" Jess shot back.

"Flavored lube? Yes or no? What you need to know right the fuck now!" Cas crowed.

And Cas and Jess collapsed into each other, all giggles and arm slaps, while Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the both of them.

"Do you like sangria, Cas?" Jess asked between snickers.

"Red and white," Cas confirmed.

"Yasssss!" Jess squealed again and they high-fived each other.

Dean sighed loudly in faux exasperation, "Just you remember, girly, I can do all the fancy YouTube braids and shit."

"Oh!" Cas said, forlornly. "He's got me there."

"Can you do winged eyeliner?" Jess asked hopefully.

"Sure. With liquid, gel, and pencil." Cas said proudly.

"WIN!" shouted Jess tackling Dean into a side chair in her office. 

"Ooof!" he laughed. "Careful with the ribs unless you want to end up taping them up again."

"Again?" Cas asked, curiosity flickering across his laughing eyes.

"Again," Dean confirmed. "Don't ever wrestle this one. She fucking cheats."

 

Jess drew their blood and made some notes on a pad of paper, no digital records for family. "Any new tattoos, Dean?" 

"Nope," he told her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him as she'd know all about the tattoo artist hookup, but he just shook his head, "I've been planning a shoulder plate but haven't gotten around to it yet."

She nodded and looked to Cas, "piercings or tattoos?"

"I've got a small one on my hip I've had for ten years. I had nipple barbels a couple of years ago, but I let the close over." Dean felt his eyebrows rise at that, but Cas was looking at Jess. Huh,

"Any problems with infection while those healed over?" she asked.

"No," Cas told her. "I liked them well enough, but my girlfriend wasn't a fan."

Jess nodded, "a lot of people are uncomfortable with nipple stimulation, but you can use clamps if you find a parter who is into it or just for yourself. Adjustable or weighted might be a nice substitute for you." She fished around in her desk drawer and came away with a business card. 'This website sells them, and a whole lot of everything else. Plus it's sex positive and safe sex and basically everything we doctors like."

"Thanks, Jess," Cas said sincerely slipping the card in his pocket. And Jess was done. Cas was a keeper. Jess had met a few of Dean's women and had liked them all well enough, but they were all wary of how close she and Dean were. But Cas accepted her like both the professional she was and the sister she was without any visible discomfort or question. And then ...

"Jess?" he began shyly, "I take it from what Dean's said that you're a bit of a shopping maven?"

"I might be," she replied coyly batting her lashes at him.

"Maybe we could get lunch and go shopping? I'm taking Dean and Meg clubbing, and they're both sort of hopeless."

"Hey!" Dean interjected. "I'm not hopeless. I can dress myself!"

Jess rolled her eyes affectionately and then nodded seriously at Cas, "he really is hopeless. And I'd love to go shopping with you and spend some more time together. I'm free tomorrow and Wednesday this week."

"Oh, that's great! You can text me?"

"I'd love that!"

"Jess, you know he's my boyfriend, right? You already have my brother, you don't get my boyfriend too," Dean told her pulling her into a tight hug and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

She huffed while Cas looked on in amusement. He really was attractive, she thought. Those deep blue eyes that could only be northern European. Maybe Baltic. Obviously, she preferred  Sam's powerful body and beer and pool tastes, but she could see the appeal in Cas' physical grace and quietly reflective personality. He and Dean looked good together.

"You two get out of here so I can get home to Sam," Jess giggled shoving both of them toward the door. "I'll have your results tomorrow. I'll text them to Cas if that's OK since Dean uses his phone for work."

"Sure," Dean said twining his fingers through Cas'. 

"No need to rush, Jess," Cas said, "we're both really grateful to you."

"Totally rush this shit through, Jess," Dean barked.

And she shoved them both through the door still laughing, "get the hell out, you adorable dorks!"

 

***

Bobby sat at his desk staring at his computer screen. Adam's Army records. Glowing reviews. Commendations. Recommendation letters. They'd wanted to mustang him through college and into the officer ranks. He was career material, they'd written. A born strategist and naturally charismatic leader. Bobby smiled fondly at a half forgotten camping trip, Adam more than pulling his weight pitching the tent and cleaning the fish. Packing and unpacking the car. Washing out the cooler and the tackle.  Dean thought he had a lead. An informant Bobby hadn't asked for details because he really didn't need to know. Like, _really_ didn't want that information in his lap. Bobby knew Dean would tread softly, but still, he couldn't untangle the knot that sat deep and hard in the bottom of his stomach. What was he going to tell Ellen now that he'd finally heard from Adam but was no closer to bringing her son home? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* xoxoxoxox


	26. Gold-painted Saints and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singing and dancing with the gang, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Meg has some information about Adam that Dean takes about as well as you might imagine. 
> 
> If you're paying attention, some of Dean's cracks are starting to show.
> 
> ETA: I forgot to credit Miley Cyrus for ["Party in the USA" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M11SvDtPBhA) in this chapter. :)
> 
> If you squint, there's a GISHWHES, bacon, Misha Collins joke in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be Dean at work through the gang at the club, but I split it here so the chapter wouldn't be 10k words. It might be a few days before I get that next chapter up because writing the dialogue with Roman is daunting -- it has to be right.

The call from Jo came in while Dean and Cas were giggling and shoving their way through the parking lot to Dean's car. "Shit, Cas, I have to go in and deal with some paperwork."

"It's fine, Dean," Cas told him pulling out his own phone to call an Uber, "of course you need to work."

"No, man. It's just for a few minutes. I've got to sign some stuff for using an informant when I talk to Meg tonight, and I have to sign some kind of release form. I'll only be a few minutes... Come with me."

Cas caught Dean's hand and raised it to his face placing a kiss on Dean's palm while maintaining eye contact, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" the hurt flashed naked across Dean's face and settled into the lines around his eyes. This was it. This was the moment, no matter what Dean said or did, his lovers realized they were dating a cop whose first love was his city. Dean swallowed hard and resolved to think the best of Cas. It was hard to be with him, Dean knew. He knew he was stubborn, overly serious, tended to brood, read too much, drank too much ... god. If he were Cas, he wouldn't want to be with Dean either.

Cas saw the facade crack, bleed pain, and then settled in kind resolve. He was going to let Cas off easy. Oh, no. No no no no no. Hell, no. Cas pulled Dean into his arms, uncaring about the public parking lot and the passing car that honked and hooted at them. "Don't do that, Dean."

"'ts fine."

"It's not what I meant. Of course I want to meet your colleagues. Of course I want to stand on this street corner and shout to everyone driving by that I've got Dean Winchester and I have no intention of letting him go now, so go fuck yourselves. Sucks to be you!"

"Cas," Dean laughed into his neck, pushing him back and covering his face with his hands.

"Dean, I will go with you if you want me to, but I thought, at least now while things are so stressful for you at work, that it would be better if I was the thing you do that's in no way related to your office."

Dean peered back at Cas from between his fingers, "you're a thing I do?"

And then Cas giggled, "you're a perv, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one!"

"Oh, that's very mature, asshole," and Cas threw an arm around Dean's shoulders and started steering him toward the Impala. "Go sign your forms!"

"I'm not leaving you here in the parking lot, babe."

"Uber is going to be pulling up any second," Cas waved his phone. And just then a little silver Nissan pulled up and the driver leaned across the passenger seat, "Cas?"

"That's me," Cas said sliding into the front, passenger seat. "I'll grab the groceries, see you at home, Dean!"

 

***

  
Dean strode out of the elevator and headed toward Jo's desk. Bobby was sitting with his hip braced against the edge of Dean's desk. He was wearing reading glasses and flipping through hard copy pages as Jo typed something into her computer. Seeing as it was just a little after 6PM, there were still a number of detectives and police aids milling around the open workspace. He nodded at a few who passed him with, "Winchester."

"What's up, Jo?" he asked coming up behind her. She just waved in Bobby's direction and went back to typing. "Jefe?"

Bobby raised his glasses from his face and perched them on top of his head. Then he scrubbed at his eyes with his hands and looked up at Dean, dark blue circles ringed his bleary and red eyes. "You OK, Bobby?"

Bobby just shook his head, "Fine. Not getting a lot of sleep. My bed is pretty crowded these days."

"Winchester knows something about that too, yeah?" snarked someone from behind them. Dean straightened his shoulders but didn't turn or rise to the bait. Bobby just looked at him with a question across his face. Jo snorted and kept typing. Cops gossiped more than retired folks hanging out in the rest home ping pong room.

"Guess the kiddos are doing good then?" Dean asked looking intently at his own fingernails. 

"Yeah. They're good. Even though I keep waking up with elbows and knees in my ribs. It's kinda nice hearing the pounding of kid feet on the stairs again. But, you know, in the last decade or so, kids still haven't learned how to shut the back door. Idjits."

Dean felt that warm thrumming in his chest, realizing, maybe for the first time, exactly who had planted those heirloom seeds and maybe just a glimpse of why they even mattered. "Glad to hear some things never change."

Bobby leaned forward, shifting his eyes in the direction of the heckler and back to Dean's face, voice pitched low, "Don't care who's warming your bed, boy, but am I going to be reading about it on the Cop Watch blog?"

"As a queer cop? Surprised I haven't been on there already," Dean replied matter-of-factly and conversationally, and definitely audible to most of the people in the room.

Bobby nodded once at him and said in a normal voice, "well, don't let me stop you."

Bobby was halfway across the room before he turned back to look at Dean and Jo, "you two keep me in the loop."

"Will do, boss," Jo replied finished up on her keyboard with a flourish of wrist. She stood up and strode across the room to pull a stack of papers off the network printer. Leaning over her desk, her hip angled to her left, she signed their forms and then pushed them across the desk to Dean with one of her special black gel pens.

He thought he'd maybe imagined her slight limp, but he was sure the way her weight was balanced on her off foot that she was injured. "What'd you do to yourself?" he asked her as he signed and initialed their various forms and reports.

"Nothing. It's stupid." Jo muttered, adjusting her posture with a mild grimace.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

She sighed, "Cole and I are renovating the guest room. I stepped wrong on the lawn while I was hauling some crap out to the curb for the big trash day pickup."

"Did you call Jess?"

"I'm not calling your gynecologist sister-in-law for a sprained back, Dean," she told him testily, but he was already pulling out his phone and telling Siri to call Jess.

"Dean! With Cas' fine, fine ass, I can see why you'd be anxious to move this along, but the labs won't be back until tomorrow," Jess answered his call.

"Nah, I'm calling about Jo."

"Shit, sorry hon, what's wrong with Jo?" Jess instantly switched from teasing to serious. She and Sam both loved Jo and not only because she was the valkyrie at Dean's back on the job. But, you know, that didn't hurt either.

"She says she maybe sprained her back, and it's not big deal, but her balance is off and she's obviously in pain ..."

"I'm RIGHT HERE, Dean!" Jo snarked and punched him in the arm. He smirked. 

Jess was laughing in Dean's ear, "put her on, you sap."

Dean handed the phone to Jo who answered a few yes and no questions, her expression shifting from irritated to relieved. "Yeah, sure. See you in twenty." And then she disconnected the call, handing the phone back to Dean, "you're an ass, you know that?"

"So, I"m told. Regularly. By you, actually. Are you going to tell me what she said?"

"Yes, asshole, she said to come by and let her look. She has a massage therapist in her office she thinks can help and she wants me to see her PT gal about strengthening my back because she thinks we sit too much."

"We do sit too much."

"Yeah. Look. Yeah, I'm just gonna shut down this computer and go over there. She says she's still got hours of paperwork to do tonight, but maybe I'll talk her into a margarita instead."

"Good idea. I'll just finish up here."

"You're going to finish the paperwork filing, Dean?" She eyeballed him skeptically. Like he hadn't done his share of paperwork when he was the junior detective. Like he still didn't do his share of paperwork. Mostly.

"Just get out of here before I change my mind, go wine and dine my sister."

"Oh shit, Dean. I just remembered you left at 5 because you had plans with Cas and Meg tonight." Jo looked stricken. She really needed to stop trying so hard, Dean thought. And then he thought it was probably his fault she still tried so hard. She was great, he should tell her more. 

He leaned forward and bumped her forehead with his. "Go. I called Jess because I worry. Don't let me worry. Go get checked out and then, if you feel up to it, go out with Jess. Or go home to Cole. Whatever. You've already done all the hard stuff. All I need to do is file these forms."

"Thanks."

"De nada."

 

***

 

It was a little more than just filing forms, but not too much more. Saving some files, uploading some stuff, making some notes. By the time he looked up again it was after 7. They didn't have Meg until 8, but he'd been looking forward to puttering around in the kitchen with Cas. And he wanted a shower. Or Cas in the shower. One of those.

When Dean walked into the loft at 7:40, he was assaulted by a wall of sound. Like, literally. The bass thumped against his chest and the perky pop sounds of Miley Cyrus slapped him in the face. OK, not literally. But that was a hell of a sound system. He dropped his bag on the shelf by the door and strode into the main living room area only to stop and stare at Cas standing on a coffee table singing into a cucumber and flanked by Charlie on his left and Meg on his right, singing into bananas, as they shifted their hips and rocked out ...

> AND THE BRITNEY SONG WAS ON, AND THE BRITNEY SONG WAS ON, AND THE BRITNEY SONG WAS ON, AND THE BRITNEY SONG WAS ONNNNNN
> 
> SO I PUT MY HANDS UP, THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG, THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY
> 
> NODDING MY HEAD LIKE YEAH, MOVING MY HIPS LIKE YEAH
> 
> I GOT MY HANDS UP, THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG, AND I KNOW I'M GONNA BE OKAY
> 
> YEAAAAAHHH, IT'S A PARTY IN THE USA!

 

Oh gods it was completely glorious. Cas and Charlie saw him at roughly the same time, but Meg was throwing her hair around and her perception was just a few seconds behind. Instead of stopping or backing down or displaying even a moment of embarrassment, they all just stepped up their game, and oh it was utterly amazing. Dean gaped feeling the huge grin slowly take over his face. Hip thrusts, side steps, turns, shimmies. This thing had it all. Until they hit their closing notes, struck their closing pose, and then flung their "microphones" right at him. Dean threw up his arms in defense, "gah! you lunatics!"

Meg or Charlie or someone tackled him and he went down onto the sectional with six hands tickling him and all he could do was grasp wildly for anything until he laid his hands on a throw pillow and began beating them back! "RAWR!" he shouted as he shoved up off the couch and took off after Charlie who squealed and scrambled on top of the counter wielding a pepper mill in her defense. "Really, Charlie! You're going to pepper me to death!?"

"No! I'm just distracting you!" Charlie shouted back at him. What?

And then Castiel dumped a glass of ice water over his head, "GAH!!" And the whole thing broke down into chaos as Dean chased Cas around the kitchen counter and over the dining table, finally cornering him in the bathroom where there was much kissing and grinding until someone (Meg) began pounding pots together in the kitchen shouting, "Get the fuck in here or we're eating without you!"

Cas rubbed a towel over Dean's hair while he stripped off his clothes and changed into whatever Cas shoved into his hands, namely, boxer briefs, board shorts, and that pink tee with the rainbow-unicorn Cas had slept in that first night that seemed like months ago but really ... shit. Don't think about it, and definitely don't think about the way Cas is staring openly, a little possessively, at the hem of the tee that hit Dean an inch or so higher at the waist than Cas. Heh.

 

Together they tromped out to the kitchen where the girls were plating a spicy turkey meatloaf onto plates with chipotle-cream cheese mashed potatoes and bacon-roasted brussel sprouts. Before he could even get it out, Cas pulled Dean over to the dining table and pushed him into a chair saying, "No, Dean, you cannot be the friend who doesn't eat the brussel sprouts."

"Babe, I'll eat anything with bacon on it."

"Don't give him any ideas, Dean!" Meg chirped as she set a plate in front of him and one at Cas' place setting. Hmmmm. Bacon ...

Charlie brought two more plates of food and Cas opened a bottle of 2016 Trisaetum Wichmann Dundee Estate dry riesling. "Charlie brought us wine," Cas told him. 

"This one is good!" Charlie chimed in, "I tasted about six of them when Cas and I were in Portland last year."

Cas rolled his eyes, "you tasted way more than six, dark lord, we had to ..."

"LA LA LA" Charlie sang loudly over Cas. "Let's just say I met a really cute Urgent Care nurse."

Charlie handed Dean a fancy safety lighter, and he lit the beeswax votives scattered across the table. Someone dimmed the lights. Cas came back with a pitcher of water floating with herbed ice cubes and poured tumblers full of water.

Meg produced bowls of extra potatoes and vegetables, Cas had a platter of meatloaf, and then Charlie was back with a platter of fresh fruit, soft goat cheeses, and slices of bread.

The food was amazing. Really. The mashed potatoes were spicy and rich, the sprouts were crispy and redolent with bacon and some kind of glaze he was betting was balsamic vinegar. The meatloaf was moist with crispy edges and the perfectly sweet, smoky layer of sauce on top: "I got to use the kitchen torch!" Meg crowed with glee. Conversation was easy and Dean wasn't even a little surprised that Charlie and Meg were thick as thieves. He had a sense of history there. Maybe he'd ask Cas later.

They talked through their days. Dean told them about court and Jo getting chippy with a defense attorney who suggested she was too reactionary because she was a woman and compensating for her size. And Jo had shot back that the asshole shouldn't have thought he could get one over on her because she was an itty bitty woman and she wouldn't have had to take him down like the lard ass he was. Even the hearing judge had laughed.

They talked about the Hexx opening party on Thursday night. Cas told them about shopping with Jess. Meg demanded a leather bustier and a bandage dress and about a million other ridiculous things that had Cas and Charlie rolling in stitches. Dean and Charlie kept interjecting things like jeggins and mom jeans and flashdance sweatshirts and neon stirrup pants and whatever else they could think of. Cas looked like he was going to have an aneurism at the stirrup pants situation. But Meg was egging them on, threatening to bedazzle everything and put spangles on her ass and fringe on her elbows and whatever. He laughed until tears were running down his face.

Meg invited Charlie to come along with them to Hexx, but she declined. Not her scene. Besides, she really, really liked the idea of Cas and Meg and Dean tarting it up in public to draw out a bad guy. She kept crowing about gay superheros to the rescue. She was going to sew them capes. But not for the night club. Because it was a classy club not a rave. They were all briefly sidetracked into a discussion of what they'd wear to a rave. Dean pointed out he'd already seen them in enough glow necklaces and bracelets to light Vegas. Meg pouted that she'd missed it. And then Cas changed the subject back to what would happen if they were rave superheros. Then, Cas wanted Dean to wear the cape in bed. Meg was going to tie Cas up with the cape. There was a discussion about chaffing. They had him laughing and light. They were dirty and funny and generous with each other, and he loved every minute of it. And the food truly was fucking amazing. 

When the plates were empty, Charlie cleared dishes while Cas brewed coffee. Dean tried to help, but Meg tugged him back into his seat, "Cas says you have something for me?"

Dean nodded, stood again, leaned forward and brushed his lips to her forehead, "I'll be right back."

He returned to the shelves by the front door and dug around in his bag pulling out the xeroxes of Adam's military file with the blown up headshot. He stood in the shadow of the front door and flipped through the pages again. His brother. As much his brother as Sam and his sister as Jess and his heart as Ellen and his soul as Mary and his spine as John Winchester. And his character as Bobby Singer. Family in the way that family always overlooks your absences and focuses on your present. 

When Dean was back at the table, Charlie and Cas were pouring coffee and cutting a cake of chocolate layers and cream cheese frosting and white chocolate something, "I brought cake!" Meg said.

"I thought you told these two not to bring anything," Dean pressed up against Cas, swiping a bit of frosting on his index finger and pressing it between Cas' lips. For his part, Cas sucked the proffered finger into his mouth, warm tongue velvet and hot against the fingerpad, eyes heated. Dean pulled his finger back and Cas held his gaze for a moment. Meg filled in the gap, "when he says 'don't bring anything,' he means 'don't bring anything besides the booze, dessert, and condoms.'"

"I have my own condoms, thank you very much," Cas sing-songed sweetly. Which, you know, Dean had been in bed with these two, more than once, yeah? But not enough. Or something. Whatever, he hadn't seen condoms yet, something else to wonder about.

His questions must have been evident on his face because Cas looked confused while Meg laughed. "Gods, Cas, don't you two talk? Dean, Cas and I are fluid bonded. Or we were before we broke up. But, like, we've never revisited that discussion. Probably we should now because there's a you. And you and Cas, if I'm not mistaken, both have bandaids from a blood draw. Almost certainly earlier today given Cas hasn't ripped it off and complained about his latex allergy yet.

"You have a latex allergy?" Dean asked, all surprise and curiosity.

Meg and Charlie fell into laughter while Cas just stared at him in bemusement. "What?" Dean asked them. "What did I say?"

Then Cas was laughing along with them. Charlie was the first person to get it together, but she chose to hold her tongue for whatever reasons of her own, and it was Meg who jumped in with, "Really, Gorgeous? That's all you got out of that? Cas is allergic to latex?"

"Well, it seems ... um, kind of important..." Dean stumbled over the words and tried to push down the kink porn that was somehow running on autoplay in his head of people in black latex and cat suits and bondage and whatever. Yeah.

"More important than your boyfriend and I skipping the condoms with each other and no one else?"

"I was going to get to that!" Dean yelped and knocked back half his coffee. Charlie tutted and refilled his mug. Good coffee.

Clearing her throat, Charlie said, "maybe we should just get to whatever Dean is holding in his hands there."

Dean hadn't really intended to share this with all three of them, or he hadn't thought about it. Actually, he hadn't really thought any of this through, and maybe that was for the best because then he didn't have to explain how he'd maybe utterly failed this kid who was maybe a suspect because Bobby didn't see the point in taking the time to sew up a hem when you could just use double stick tape and a promise. Yeah. So, just forge ahead. Don't think, go.

"Um, this is my foster-brother, Adam's, Army file. I haven't heard from him in a few years, but I have reason to believe he might be involved in these attacks on local businesses. Or, rather, yeah, I think he might be in trouble." He placed the pages and files in front of Meg who flipped through them, scanning with her index finger and murmuring to herself. She read as fast as Cas did. Charlie and Cas sat quietly while she worked. As she flipped to the last page she stopped and studied the photograph a moment. Then she reassembled the pages and passed them off to Cas and Charlie without a word.

Meg sat a minute looking into her coffee, Dean let her think. He valued thinking more than anyone thought he did, and especially right now when he needed the moment to get his heart rate sorted out. She was subtle but he knew she'd recognized something in the file. And she'd definitely recognized the photograph.

Finally, she turned to Dean.

"I know him. He was introduced to me as Adam. He's one of the quiet young men who come and go at Roman's whim. Quiet. Professional. Broken though, in spirit I mean, just like Roman likes them." Meg poured herself a bit more coffee and stirred in cream.

"What do you know about him?" Dean asked, quietly.

Her eyes shifted their focus to some point above his head, and he recognized the expression of someone accessing their own memories. "He looks a little different than this now. He's still strong, but he's a little leaner. He's got a knife scar under his ear to his collar bone. He's tanned, his hair is longer, and it's hard to tell from this photograph, but I think he's had work done on his nose. In this picture it's been broken -- it's got character, but it's straight now."

"OK. Anything else you can think of?"

"Yeah, Dean. Look, he hides it. I mean I'm sorry to tell you this and please don't think I'm a bitch because I work with people like this all the time, and I can't know them. I can't know their stories. But I know fear. Adam hides it really, really well. But I know he's fucking terrified of Roman."

Jesus. 

"But that doesn't make sense, does it?" Dean reasoned aloud and even to his own ears he sounded naive. "Why would he work for Roman if he's afraid of him. Couldn't it be something else? Like people make him nervous or your hot little ninja ass scares the shit out of him?"

She stared into his eyes a moment, and he saw the bargain flicker there beneath her lashes. What to tell him, what to hold back. They didn't know each other, not really, even if he felt things he didn't have words for when she was around. Like a subtle shift in his size and shape. And then the moment passed and she'd decided.

"No. It's nothing else. When he looks at me, I'm pretty much the only person he isn't afraid of. Sometimes he even gives me these little smiles like he knows we're both just passengers on Roman's ride. No. He's afraid. He does his job and Roman relies on him. Whenever Roman is angry, he snaps and says terse things and Adam and this other guy show up. Roman barks at them and off they go and things get better for awhile."

"Another guy?"

"Yeah. Another white guy. Generic ex-military type. Matt. A little bigger than Adam. A little older. In no way terrified. He likes it. And he likes serving the boss. And Roman likes that Matt likes it. That's a whole other mess. Anyway. I can try to get you a snap or two the next time they show up."

"Please. And thanks, Meg."

She squeezed his hand beneath the table. Charlie and Cas were buried in conversation on their end of the table when Charlie looked up, "Meg, why was he discharged?"

"It's been coded in there, but I'm going to say mental health. He had a break down, I think. But it's not his service record. Nothing but good things there. And not the kind of good things they write when they're trying to hide something in the soldier's performance. The good things in there are verifiable by cross-referencing them against deployments, stations, and other reports. His good conduct and career potential are well documented. I'm going to go out on a not very far limb and say he got crosswise of one of the predators in uniform -- someone either bullied him, harassed him, or something like that until he broke. It happens. More often with women than men, but it happens. They're good soldiers and they want to keep their jobs and careers and they don't want to complain, so they don't report it. And the predator sees that as weakness and steps up the game until something breaks. And it's usually the victim."

Dean looked at Meg, stricken. "How can you even know that?"

"Dean ... "

"No, he's my baby brother so fucking tell me what you know, right the fuck now."

"It's just ... patterns. Dean. You're a detective. You know how when you look at enough things, common shapes become visible?"

He nodded at her.

"It's just ... some of the places he's been, assignments he's held, people he knows. I've seen this before."

"You know who hurt my brother, don't you?"

She stared him down and the candles flickered in her chocolate eyes, warm gold and liquid night. He'd never looked so deeply to see so little before.

"I don't, Dean. I'd tell you if I did. I have my suspicions. But, I think right now, we need to figure out how to pull your brother out from under Roman. And we can talk about the rest of it when he's safe."

"Wait, you're saying he's not safe? That's what you were saying. He's afraid because he's not safe."

"No. Well, yes, I said that, but what I meant was his record shows he has little care for his own safety. If he had, his outcome would have been different. But I mean he's being controlled somehow. Coercion. Roman is a sneaky bastard -- I think I told you that. He needs power, and he loves power over other people."

"What could he have over Adam?" Dean wondered aloud while Cas and Charlie just gaped at him. Meg squeezed his hand. But Dean wasn't catching on.

Finally, Cas whispered, "Dean. He has everything. He has you, Sam, Jess, Bobby, Ellen, all the other foster kids. He has  _everything_."

Jesus. 

Dean pushed back from the table, "um, I'm going for a run. I've got my phone, but, don't use it, OK? I'll be back ... when I'm back."

"Whatever you need, Dean," Charlie whispered, her voice full of warmth and care.  And damn if he didn't love her in that moment.

"Um, thanks for dinner. This was great. You guys are amazing."

Meg crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck kissing his eyelids and the tip of his nose. Then she stood up and offered her hands to him, pulling him up out of the chair. Charlie and Cas rose too. And the three of them started hauling cake and coffee out to the patio, while Dean went into the closet to pull out his running shoes. Running. How far could he run these days? He sure as hell was going to find out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxox


	27. Only God Can Judge Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean cleans out his fridge, Jo and Dean goof around, Jess and Cas do lunch, everyone goes to the club, Dean gets under Roman's skin.
> 
> Another warning that this isn't beta-ed and it's only lightly edited because it's 9500 words, and I wanted it off my desk. Thanks for your tolerance. Let me know if it needs major fixes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, this is like [Dean's historic bungalow in the Willo](http://www.zillow.com/homes/for_sale/Phoenix-AZ/pmf,pf_pt/7536140_zpid/40326_rid/1-_beds/WILLO-DISTRICT_att/globalrelevanceex_sort/34.232241,-111.147309,32.976412,-113.102875_rect/8_zm/). Except Dean Winchester would never have a wallpaper border. Nope.
> 
> I went online shopping for our heroes' clubbing clothes, and I inserted those pics at the end because it was fun for me. And because I need Meg's shoes. 
> 
> I've really debated the Cas has family money/Charlie has industry money thing because the dom-has-all-the-power-and-money thing is a trope (not that I'm writing BDSM fic, but just that this is the tropey-trope) that serves to create plot tension between the characters. Which, money is a common cause of conflict between real life couples, but it's most often how to allocate what little money people have. But, in fic, wealth is most often a quick sketch in to scaffold the power struggles. Which, I'm more interested in writing about our characters' internal conflicts as they come into their own power. OTOH, fic is escapism, and I think right now we're all in need of some escaping (like, I have an ongoing frustration with the bleak financial prospects for most Millennials and how the deck is stacked to perpetuate the inequities). Also, not having to worry about money simplifies my plot some, and I'm a novice fic writer. So, like, I'm already in over my head with these plots threads I'm wrangling. So there's that. And finally, I'm surrounded by a close group of friends, and we're at a point in our lives where we figure the money all works itself out. We just take turns paying for stuff, and it's really easy. Yeah, that's a pretty privileged place to be standing, but then again, my life is incredibly charmed in so many ways, I probably couldn't begin to count them. True story. So, I've settled, somewhat uncomfortably, on these economics of our characters. Yeah, it's neoliberal that basically everyone is successfully middle class or more, and it's socialist that they're totally comfortable sharing whatever they have, whether it's space, food, clothes, hugs, or cash. So, yeah. Just, [ whoa, come with me now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gz2GVlQkn4Q).

Dean arrived in his house in the Willo after running and walking for a couple of hours. He hopped his fence and snatched the back door key from its magnetic case beneath the patio table. He let himself in and walked through the rooms, opening windows. It was a little stale. And everything was a little dusty. The yard outside looked good -- the landscapers were obviously keeping it up. And his mail was piled on the kitchen counter from where the neighbor's girlfriend had left it. It was all junk since he paid his bills online on autopay. He made a note in his phone to send the neighbors a thank-you note.

He turned on some classic rock on his bluetooth speaker streaming Pandora from his phone. And then he dragged the garbage bin into the kitchen to begin cleaning out his refrigerator. He started with just the expired food and milk, but the condiments went next. Until it was nothing but an old box of baking soda -- but then that went too. He pulled some bleach wipes from beneath the sink and carefully cleaned out the inside of the fridge until it shone. The freezer was nothing -- just some bottles of vodka and gin. He left them. He swept the mail off the counter into the bin, then he hauled the garbage bin out to the curb.

Back in the kitchen, he filled a large glass with water from the sink and drank it down. Then he filled it with some more water and carried it with him. He walked back to his home office/guest room and booted up his desktop computer. Then he sent Cas a text:

 

Detective Dean 11:02PM

At my house taking care of some stuff. Going to sleep here & have Jo get me in the AM

 

Cat Cas 11:02PM 

kk. do you need anything?

 

Cat Cas & Unknown Number 11:03PM

want us to come sleep with you?

 

Detective Dean 11:03PM

Is that Meg?

 

Cat Cas & Unknown Number 11:03PM

yes - i added her to chat

 

Detective Dean 11:04PM

hey Meg. dunno. miss you but tired

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:05PM

this is meg again. we could all try that? sleep alone in our separate beds #solidarity

 

Detective Dean 11:05PM

cept Cas wont be alone - he still has my goddamn cat

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:06PM

get over it Dean, she obviously likes me best

 

Detective Dean 11:07PM

that text was obvi from Cas

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:07PM

did you just type obvi?

 

Detective Dean 11:08PM

and that text was obvi from Meg

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:08PM

meg just flipped you off

 

Detective Dean 11:09PM

you two must be riding a helluva sugar high over there

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:09PM

<puking unicorn gif>

 

Detective Dean 11:11PM

yep sugar high

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:12PM

srsly, dont know if we should leave you alone even tho cas says you're fine & you'll tell us if you need us

 

Detective Dean 11:14PM

srsly? you can type srsly but i can't type obvi?

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:14PM

yes.

 

Detective Dean 11:15PM

Cas is right. i'm good -- i just need to sleep and maybe pack a bag of clothes to bring over tomorrow after work

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:16PM

i'm still going shopping with Jess, Dean

 

Detective Dean 11:16PM

fine. whatevs. just no stealing my SIL. you too, Ninja, hands off my sibs

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:17PM

sounds like a challenge... *winky face emoji*

 

Detective Dean 11:17PM

yeah imma stop talking before you two gang up on me anymore. going to bed 

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:18PM

mkay. sleep good. <3 u

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:18PM

yes, Dean. sleep well. <3 u lol

 

Detective Dean 11:19PM

gods, you people are children. I love you too

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:20PM

fuck, Dean. you are so moving in now

 

Cat Cas & Ninja 11:20PM

(imma just assume he means he loves me too. i'm so blowing you when i see you again, gorgeous)

 

Detective Dean 11:21PM

go to bed, children. i'll be over after work tomorrow.

 

Dean opened a browser on his desktop computer and fiddled with his Bookmarks. He submitted a work order to disconnect his cable and internet. He forwarded his home phone to his cell phone. And he submitted a change of address for his mail so it would be rerouted to Sam's house. He also submitted requests to the city and the power company to switch his accounts to landlord accounts. He and Cas probably had some specifics to work out, but he obviously wasn't living in his house now given the state of the refrigerator. And if he and Cas broke up, he knew he'd be moving in with Sam and Jess for at least awhile. Team Winchester. 

Finally, he reprogrammed the house thermostat to unoccupied temperatures, which were a little warmer than he kept it for himself and Solo but not too warm or cold to be hard on the historic moldings or artwork. Satisfied, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into his tiny, massage-spray shower and used his own baby shampoo (shut up, it smells nice), guy-scented shower gel and black washcloth to get all the grime and sweat off.

 

***

Jo picked Dean up in the morning with coffee from GfM and let him put his duffel and garment bag in the backseat and then sit and sip the coffee in silence until she got to the secure parking garage for their office: "You and Cas have a fight?"

 

"Nah. We're good."

 

"You're good?" she asked dubiously glancing over her shoulder at the luggage.

 

"May have told him I love him last night. So that happened. But, you know, good."

 

Jo yanked the wheel hard and arrived in their parking space with a stomping of breaks and an very loud "OHMYGODDEAN!"

 

He slapped his hands over his ears.  "Jesus, woman!"

 

She unhooked her seatbelt and turned her body toward him. "What are we doing!?!?"

 

"Huh?" this was not the direction he thought this would go.

 

"I mean, we're both in normal relationships! At the same time! Look at us badass detectives all adulting and shit!"

 

He opened his mouth to reply, but Jo jumped in again, "Well, mostly normal relationships. It is us, after all, so like, and we don't exactly do normal." 

 

He shrugged at her and said in his earnest boyscout voice, "I mean, when would we have time for normal? What with all our home improvement projects." And then he slowly and deliberately winked at her.

 

She gaped. Dumbstruck.

 

"Jo, you didn't think I bought that whole remodeling story, do you? I  _know_ you. The first time you hooked up with Cole, you guys broke the back seat of his SUV." And then they were both laughing.

 

She slapped his arm, "don't even start with me, Mr My Boyfriend Has a Girlfriend and This is Fine."

 

"It is fine! Surprisingly fine!" He made an exaggerated shrugging gesture, and then they were giggling again. The car was still running, and they were in the parking lot. A couple of their colleagues banged on the hood of their car as they walked by, and Jo and Dean collaborated on their obscene gestures. Then four detectives were laughing in the parking lot.

 

Jo turned back to Dean, "so, when you guys fuck, she's like, what? That cherry you put on top of the sundae?" 

 

"There's a joke in there somewhere about how my boyfriend's girlfriend is a cherry but your boyfriend's girlfriend is a wolverine. ... but it's not coming to me."

 

And then she was slapping him, and they were laughing hard enough tears were streaming down their faces, "Dean, that doesn't even make any sense!"

 

"Pool party, 4th of July, that man's back looked like he'd had a fight with a cactus," Dean pointed at her.

 

Jo was gaping again, "it did not!"

 

"Yes, yes it did," he said chuckling, but Jo just kept looking at him in horror.

 

"No, it did not!"

 

"Oh gods, Jo. Seriously. I wanted to get him some bandaids and a rabies shot."

 

"Jesus, Dean! His MOTHER WAS THERE! You could have told him! Warned him to maybe put on a shirt!"

 

"Wait, Jo. You think  _Cole_ didn't know the state his back was in? Seriously?"

 

She stared, her mouth hung open as she put it together: "Oh My God. You're both assholes!"

 

And Dean lost it. Just leaned back in the seat, threw one arm over his face and laughed and laughed.

 

She started slapping him again, "It's not funny! I have to have Thanksgiving with that woman!"

 

"You could always tell her he lost a fight with a cactus."

 

"Oh my fucking god, I hate you!"  She shut off the car and slammed out of it. He got out and grabbed their coffees and his luggage from the back and followed her into the office building still chucking to himself.

 

"We've got a lot to do today, Jo, better put those claws away..."

 

"Fuck you, Winchester!" she shouted as they burst into the building, but she tugged the garment bag off his shoulder so he was just carrying the duffel, and they both could drink their coffees. Teamwork. Harvelle-Winchester style.

 

***

 

Jess walked past the host's station and into Cas' waiting arms as he stood up to greet her. The sushi restaurant was on the Nordstrom's end of the mall and parking had been terrible. And she hated being late. Ugh.

"How are you?" she asked him planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Pretty good, you?" he asked. And she squinted at him.

"You're sure?"

"I'm fine, a little tired" he told her. "I'm very glad we're doing this." 

"Me too. Oh, and I got your labs. I'll send the official results to your doctor if you want, but you and Dean are negative for everything."

"Thank you, Jess."

"But you knew that, didn't you?"

He chuckled, "I am a few years beyond bad choices, I think." They smiled at each other. "Oh, I should say, I ordered for us. Pacific Rim riesling, edamame, chef's choice sushi and sashimi, was there anything else you wanted?"

"No, that sounds completely delicious," she told him just as their server arrived with the wine in a cooler.

They ate together making casual small talk. He complimented her off-the shoulder dress that looked cool and casual with the large Chloe sunglasses she was using to hold back her hair. And she complimented his vintage Social Distortion t-shirt. She told him funny stories about dating Sam while he was living with Dean, and Cas could see how much she adored Dean. Jess was an only child, and Sam had come as a package deal with the big brother she'd always wanted. 

Jess shared a funny story about her and Sam's first fight, and how Sam had stormed out and she'd lain on the couch, head in Dean's lap while he patted her hair and then fed her ice cream. Then when Sam came back to their apartment, Dean made them sit together on the couch and talk it out. Which struck her and Sam as hilarious at the time because Dean wasn't exactly the most emotionally mature person. But in so many ways, the three of them had grown into adults together. 

Cas told her about how he'd moved in with Charlie and they'd gone through their separate phd programs together. And how they'd gotten very strange and very reclusive. They'd been writing their dissertations at the same time and found themselves on a first name basis with the guys who delivered Thai and Indian food. At one point, when they placed their online order, the Thai restaurant had texted them that they'd talked to their delivery guy, who'd also talked to the guy who delivered the Indian, and no one could figure out if Cas and Charlie had left their house in the last three weeks. So they weren't going to deliver food, but Cas and Charlie were welcome to actually leave their house and come down to the restaurant and eat in, on the house. But Charlie and Cas were writing, and they hadn't had time. That's how they'd discovered that the local Szechuan was pretty good, and their delivery guy didn't mind bringing the spicy eggplant and spicy cabbage and potato without asking a lot of questions.

After their plates were cleared and they were finishing their wine, Cas told Jess what he'd had in mind. A cocktail dress and wedge heels for Meg, jeans, a shirt, and a jacket for Dean, and the same for himself, except, obviously, Dean needed to look super alpha and Cas wasn't really able to do anything but be, you know, divergent. He didn't tell Jess what they were up to exactly, but he gave her enough to know that they were going out with intent to draw attention to themselves. And Cas wanted them to look sex and money.

They discussed designers, and Cas was pretty set on Tom Ford for him and Dean because he liked the off the rack close-fitting tailoring, and they weren't really going to have time to have alterations before Thursday. Jess was partial to Hudson jeans, and not just because the little UK flag label was cute. They were interesting styles. Also Diesel. Italian men know how to wear jeans. She argued for ankle booties for Meg since it was fall in the desert, but he told her they were dancing and Meg would need the stability of a wedge heel and ankle strap. He didn't mention that Meg was also maybe their exfil strategy. 

When she asked him his budget, he told her he didn't have one. "Cas, I know it's rude to talk about money with someone you've just met, but I'm realizing that 1) you're my family now and 2) while Dean has never acted like my family money was an issue for him, he's not terribly comfortable with pricey gifts from me."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"So, I'm asking, how much money do you have and does Dean know and is he going to freak out when he finds out?"

Cas looked her in the eyes and saw nothing but earnest concern for the man who had made her family. "First, it's not really my money. I inherited it, and I was expected to take it and go. And then never look back. While my grandfather was alive, he and I were close. And he left me both a trust and shares in his corporation. I never touch the trust, and I live on some of the income from the shares. The rest gets donated and invested and generally handled by an estate expert I trust."

"I'm sort of the same, you know?" Jess told him, quietly, sipping her wine. I mean, I don't have shares in a family corporation, but I have a trust, and my college was paid for by my parents. My budget for entertainment and expenses was generous, but I never spent a lot of it. I just did cheap beer and wine college girl things until I met Sam and Dean, who appealed to me in no small part because they were at least as frugal as I was. I liked how practical they were, even if sometimes you had to look pretty deep beneath their shenanigans. They're both really smart about money, but Sam lets me buy him things. Dean lets me get away with it maybe once a year."

Cas chuckled. "I guess we're going to see how much he lets me get away with today."

"So, he doesn't know about the money?"

"We haven't talked about it explicitly, but he knows about the lofts I own downtown and he's been in both of them. So, I figure he's got a pretty good idea."

"Well, he's not going to want you to take care of him."

"And I don't intend to. He can take care of himself, and I'll gladly let him take care of me if he wants to. But I only have a few indulgences. Meg too, who, by the way, doesn't need anything from me. Or need anything Dean, for that matter."

"What does Meg do again?"

"Private security."

Jess stared at him for a moment, evaluating that information.  Then she took her last swallow of wine, "you three are so interesting together."

"I hope we're interesting enough to pull off this night club distraction."

Then it was Jess' turn to chuckle. "Maybe just go in bed hair and bed sheets because, I gotta tell you, that's pretty fucking interesting."

Then they were both laughing, but Cas was blushing, "I kind of can't believe he showed you those."

"Oh, he didn't really have a choice since I helped myself to them. But, you know, Sam loved them!"

"Oh my god!"

"Come on," she told him. "Neiman Marcus is calling our names."

 

***

 

Dean had seen the clothes Cas had bought when he went to hang up the things he'd brought from his house in "their" closet. He hung his things on 'his' side while Cas looked on, smiling. Then Dean said, "so, I live here now."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas told him letting warmth fill his voice and his eyes. A little pink in his cheeks.

"We need to have like a million conversations though," Dean said fingering the leather of the new jacket Jess and Cas had chosen.

Cas didn't answer, he just slipped opened the drawer next to the one he kept his cuff links and bracelets in. Its compartments were empty except for three that contained, respectively: a lapis lazuli prayer bracelet, a silver and bronze chain bracelet, a pair of silver bee cufflinks. Dean picked up the cufflinks, "these are really pretty, Cas."

"I'm glad you like them." Dean picked up the lapis beads and rubbed his fingers over them. He returned them carefully to their place in the drawer and then drew Cas's wrist into his hand. Cas was wearing a matching bracelet of green malachite beads. "Cas? Are you a really big sap?"

"Jess is the big sap, actually. She initially chose them, but I told her it was a little creepy to wear symbols of each others' eyeballs on our wrists. She was horrified, and then after she thought about it a moment, she decided that was hilarious. She was laughing hard enough that a salesperson brought her some water. When she stopped laughing, I apologized and told her I thought it was really sweet, and that I'd only been fucking with her about it being creepy. And then the laughing started all over again."

"That's fucking hilarious. I'm surprised she didn't get you thrown out."

"That happens?"

"Oh, you have no idea how many times Jess has gotten me thrown out of places," Dean said with obvious deep affection. "That girl is bananacakes. It's awesome."

"Speaking of her, I'm supposed to give these to you. These are from Jess," and he passed Dean a two small boxes, also from David Yurman. One had a dark red leather braided bracelet that wrapped around his wrist three times before closing at a silver clasp. The other had an oxidized signet ring with a dark red stone. Dean fingered the fine leather, removed the bracelet carefully from its box and placed it in one of the empty compartments in his drawer. He looked softly into the drawer for a moment, and then he removed the ring from the other box and slipped it onto his right hand. Holding his hand out in front of him, he admired it there and then looked up at Cas, eyes a little misty. "Jess was worried you'd be grumpy about her gifts, but I told her you'd like them."

"I do. This is really nice. Thank you."

"So, is this one of the things we have to talk about, Dean?" Cas asked, placing a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No, babe. These aren't the kinds of things I buy myself, or not very often, anyway. And I'm not about to start now. But, I'll never tell you that you can't do what you want with your money."

"I know, Dean."

Dean looked up at Cas' face, quirking his eyebrow in question.

Cas gave him a warm smile. "Jess told me a story about when you were a young cop and Sam was in law school and Jess was in medical school, you and Sam pooled your money and bought Jess a sturdy platinum chain to hang her engagement ring from when she was not able to wear it for her procedures and practice. She showed it to me and talked about how many different ways you could serve mac and cheese, raman, and PBJ to afford it. She accepted yours and Sam's gift even knowing you'd already chipped in on her engagement ring."

"She knew about the ring?"

"I think she knows a lot of things, Dean. But when she showed me the chain, I knew why you'd done it."

"Yeah, I like to give her a little bit of a hard time or she'd basically spend all her off hours buying stuff for Sam and me. She's a straight up power shopper. But it's just a ritual. I want her to think of me as the guy who takes care of her and Sam. But gifts are gifts."

"That's what I think too," and Cas squeezed Dean's shoulder and then dropped his hand to Dean's so he could admire Jess' ring. "I like this here."

"It's strong, like Jess. I love it."

"So we need to talk about how you live here now? And how I'm incredibly glad."

"I'm not going to freak out, Cas. I know I love you. I know what that means. Just because I'm still processing it doesn't mean I'm going to freak out."

"I didn't think you were."

"I think I'm going to lease out my house, and I think we should set up a household checking account where I can deposit the proceeds from the lease that we can use for some of our living expenses. I'll make more on the monthly rent than the mortgage costs me, so there will be extra. And I'll put the same amount I usually spend on my bills from my salary into the same account. "

"I don't know exactly what you make, Dean, but whatever you spend on your bills, it's going to be more than half our expenses here. My utilities here get paid with the rest of the utilities in the building. So all that's left is whatever we spend eating and on Netflix and Amazon streaming."

"Wait. You said you owned this loft, do you own this building?" Dean realized that maybe wasn't a polite question as soon as it was out of his mouth. But then they were in a relationship, and some facts mattered when you were trying to be in a relationship. Fucking teachable Dean Winchester to the rescue.

Cas chuckled again, "a small misdirection. I'm sorry about that. I say it to people here without thinking about it now. The building belongs to my grandfather's corporation. His estate requires that I hold title to these two lofts, but the corporation bundles all the utilities together and pays them. At some point, the ownership of this building conveys to me, but that's many years off. If for some reason, they want to sell the building, they have to buy me out at market value."

"How does that work, Cas?"

"I told you I'm not the favorite son. When they asked me to leave, grandfather wanted to make sure I'd always have a place to live. He paid my rent to Charlie in grad school, and then when I followed her here, he bought this building and had this floor renovated for us. She chose to buy her own house rather than live across the hall -- she wanted a yard, but her first book was dedicated to his legacy. She also established a scholarship in his name at UC Davis. They only knew each other a short time before he died, but they adored each other. She taught him to play Halo."

That made Dean smile -- he could just imagine Charlie and a stiff, CEO type swearing at Halo together. "OK, so, how do we do money, then, Cas? You want to just take turns paying for stuff and figuring that it will even out overall?"

"I really like that idea, Dean."

"Cool. OK, so then you probably need your lawyer to draw up something for me to sign?"

"That's not really necessary."

"Cas, I think it is."

"No, I mean, thank you, that's very reasonable and wise. But it's not necessary here because any assets I have are in trust except the earned income on my stocks, most of which gets reinvested and donated. I don't touch any of the core assets, ever. The manager of those funds gives me a living allowance from the stock earnings that he deposits into an account montly, which I'm happy to give you access to."

"So you're saying you're a glorified teenager."

They both laughed, "I really think I am considering we're sitting on the floor of our closet. Probably we should get a flashlight and steal the booze from father's cupboard."

"Hold that thought," Dean said getting up and leaving the closet. He was back in less than a minute with a bottle of tequila, no glasses. He plopped back on the floor next to Cas, opened the bottle and took a swig. He grimaced. "Perfect!" He passed the tequila to Cas who took his own drink. 

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Cas. But Solo is still my cat."

"Fine, Dean. Solo is your cat. I will have my lawyer draw up the cat custodial documents."

"You do that."

They sat on the floor talking through their days. Dean figured he'd be tired of talking after the day he'd had, but nah. His whole day seemed brighter and more interesting when he retold it and watched Cas experience it. And Cas' stories of shopping with Jess, who apparently had made a bigger dent in her credit lines than even Cas' little Tom Ford and Prada extravaganza. Something about needing the concierge service to carry the bags of shoes out to her car. Dean was going to have to add more shelves to her closet.

"I kind of love your sister, Dean. I'm sure I'll love your brother too."

Dean laughed. "That's probably going to be a bumpy road. You're not his favorite person." 

Cas threw a seductive pose, arching his spine, a coquettish expression on his face, "not, Sam's cup of tea, hey? We'll see about that."

Maybe not, but definitely Dean's cup of tea. Which is how Dean gave his first blowjob in their closet. If they kept this up, he was going to have dirty thoughts any time he went to get dressed. Which, well, that was fine.

 

***

 

Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a blur for Dean as he and Jo worked their cases. There were interviews, meetings with prosecutors, meetings with forensics, meetings with the chief's PR people, meetings with Bobby, talking talking talking. Dean stumbled in around eight every night and Cas fed him leftovers or pasta. Then they would go for a run together, with Dean heading back after a couple of miles while Cas finished his longer runs. There were mutual handjobs in the shower and, on Wednesday night, Cas showed off his massage skills that left Dean spent and liquid in their bed. Hands. That's all he was going to say about that. Oh gods, those hands.

Dean had asked for and been given Thursday afternoon, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. Bobby and Jo knew he was working a lead on the side, but they were staying out of it because Dean promised he'd pull them into it when it actually turned out to be anything. Cas was off for the same four days, but Meg was working Thursday and then the weekend. She was going to be off Thursday night and Friday until Roman had a local theater fund raiser in the evening.

Late Thursday evening had Dean and Cas standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing their teeth at their individual sinks and then rubbing product into each others' hair for the perfect artful mess that Meg would probably try to "mess up" anyway when she got there. Dean watched Cat-Cas in the mirror, nails painted a midnight blue, clean shaven. A kind of transformation that Dean was going to really enjoy getting used to watching.  Dean left Cas to his eyelining -- apparently, eyeliner isn't the easiest thing to apply when someone is staring at your hands and licking their lips. Go figure. It was  _interesting_ though, and Dean had ideas that Cas might teach it to him at some point. 

Dean dressed in the closet, the Hudson 'motorcycle' jeans Cas Jess had picked out were ... tight. All the long hours at work, running around at work, and running with Cas at night was keeping him on the lean side, and he had to admit their fit was definitely flattering, but he didn't usually require this much adjusting to get into his jeans. Then the very thin linen/silk mauve-colored pullover. He'd been initially unsure about the color, but its undertones contrasted nicely with his eyes. That was probably also Jess. Comfortable but dressy brown ankle boots next. Those were his own he'd brought from the house. Sam's brass pendant around his neck, always. A brown Italian leather belt that was on Cas' side of the closet. The jeans rode low, so the belt was nice, but he chose one with a smooth bucket with rounded angles so it wouldn't dig so low on his stomach. Plus, it was Cas'. 

Then Jess' ring on his right hand and Jess' bracelet on his right wrist. They looked good together, a nice symmetry. The titanium cigar band he'd always worn on his right thumb, an ornate Bali silver band on the middle finger of his left hand that he'd found in an art street fair a few years ago. Cas' bracelets went on his left wrist. And he admired the contrast between the brass cuff and the blue beads. Then he grabbed the fucking gorgeous brown leather jacket Cas and Jess had chosen and headed back into the living area where he came face to face with Cas in nothing but sooty black eyeliner and burgundy shadow smudged around his eyes. His lips were slicked in a soft satiny gloss. 

Dean stopped and stared. Then he grabbed Cas with the hand not holding the jacket and started tugging him toward their bed. "Fuck me. We are so canceling this thing."

"Dean, we can't ..." Cas said and started to pull toward the closet.

"Oh hell no," Dean said laying the jacket carefully over a nearby club chair and then sweeping Cas into a fireman's carry and hauling him bodily in the opposite direction. "Bed. Now."

"Put me down, Dean. I want to look at you." Cas started to struggle

Dean just growled and held him tighter.

"You're a caveman."

"Do not tell me you are just now noticing this," and Dean slapped Cas' ass and tossed him into the bed. And oh gods, Cas scrambling backwards, naked, across  _their_ bed.

Meg, with impeccable timing, walked in just then, which Dean having been wrestling and snarking with Cas had missed the sound of her heels on the floor. He knew she was behind him only because Cas' gaze was suddenly distracted from lust-filled scanning his body to lust-filled scanning something behind his shoulder. Huh. Dean turned and there she was. And seeing Meg standing in front of them, hip cocked mock-judgmentally, as she tsked at them, gold and black, form fitting, mesh inserts halter dress and high gold wedge heels with heart cutouts, chunky gemstone jewelry, sultry burgundy lips to complement her burgundy waves pinned up off her neck -- lashes, lips, and legs for miles. 

"What are you boys doing!? The car will be here in 10 minutes."

"Dean is being a caveman."

"Does this surprise us?"

"You," Dean turned toward her, "dress off. Bed now. ... Keep the shoes." Meg and Cas burst into laughter at Dean's frustrated face, and then Dean's expression cracked and he gave up his caveman charade and just laughed with them. He put up his hands in surrender, "OK, OK, I'm just saying, you two look good. And I mean  _good_." Dean told them, eyes crinkled in a warm smile that filled his entire face.

"I'm still naked," Cas protested.

"Fine with me," Dean quipped. 

"As delicious as Cas looks, Gorgeous, I don't think he's quite to the dress code."

"OK, fine. Get dressed, Cas." And then Dean pointed his index finger to each of them in turn, "but we're revisiting this later."

Cas headed off to the closet while Dean modeled his clothes for Meg who heartily approved. She slapped his ass a couple of times too many, and he made her turn around in the dress so many times, she told him he was making her dizzy. 

Cas came out of the closet in the literally painted-on-jeans he'd worn at Halloween, a very fitted button down oxford shirt, tails untucked, and an utterly gorgeous blue velvet smoking jacket. Titanium studs in his ears. The same jewelry from their first date, with the addition of the malachite beads. 

"Holy fuck, Cas. You are not wearing those jeans again."

Meg circled Cas and whistled low. Cas caught her hand and pulled her through a dance turn, spinning her to check out her ass and her legs. She took a deep breath, "boys, we probably need to take this out to the sidewalk before we get any better ideas."

 

***

The black sedan waited for them at the curb, and they crawled in together flirting and making small talk at each other, settling in for the 20 minute drive to Hexx in Old Town. A few minutes into the ride, Meg opened her tiny, Swarovski handbag and opened a pack of yellow, sugared gummies. Dean laughed and tossed two into his mouth, but Cas just quirked an eyebrow at her. She quirked her eyebrow back at him.

"Is this a good idea?" Cas asked as Meg placed two into her mouth as well. 

"This is a great idea, babe," Dean mumble through chewing his gummies. He grimaced just a bit at the aftertaste and took a pull off the bottle of icy water in the cupholder. Then he passed it to Meg who drank as well.

Cas watched Dean who didn't seem at all concerned about whether or not the weed was going to get him into trouble. Dean just nodded at him, and Cas relaxed and accepted Meg's gift.

"It's a good idea because it's not going to do more than relax me a little, but if he's watching me closely, and Meg thinks he will be, he'll notice I'm high. He'll think I'm out for a good time and not to get a read on him. Hopefully, he'll be less guarded."

"And," Meg added, "it will enhance Dean's mystique in Roman's eyes. He'll be the party boy with all the toys. The younger, hotter, more virile, more bacchanalian archetype, and, trust me on this, Roman would very much like to give the impression he can keep up with all of that. His vanity won't allow him to do anything else," and she made a circular gesture encompassing Dean. 

Cas smiled dark and low. "This is going to be fun," and put the gummies in his mouth. 

Meg instructed the driver to drop them at the front door, and she led them past the people at the front door with just a nod. The rope line had maybe 75 people in it, but the inside was packed because they were, of course, fashionably late in the evening.

Lyric, a tall, olive skinned young woman in slim black pants, a black shirt, a black waistcoat, and a skinny red tie greeted them at the host's station, "Ms Masters, good evening to you and your guests. Your table is ready; Ashley will show you." 

Ashley was a petite young woman, with fair skin, long straight brown hair, and almond eyes, eyelashes brushing her cheekbones. She wore black, tuxedo stripped shorts, and the same shirt, waistcoat and tie as Lyric. "Please follow me, Ms Masters. And you guests are?"

Meg nodded toward Dean, "this is Mr Dean Winchester, and this is Dr Cas Novak."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Winchester, Dr Novak. We're so glad you're here." Ashley led them through the club, past the doors that led out to an enormous swimming pool and outside bar and dance floor, up a few stairs to a platform that ran around the perimeter of the club's interior. There was a glass half-wall all the way around the platform that made things just a little quieter up here than on the dance floor. This platform was partitioned into recessed small rooms furnished with low, red leather couches and chairs and low modern wood tables. Red velvet curtains were draped back so the VIPs could see and be seen, but they could also be pulled closed for privacy. She seated them in one alcove that was just above the dance floor with an excellent view of the DJ booth. There were a few stairs down to the dance floor about ten feet from them, but they were blocked by a velvet rope and a young man in a black on black suit working security. Ashley clipped bracelets on each of their wrists, "RFID," she said. "You can order anything you want by waving them over the reader. All the staff carry them. Ciara will be your hostess, please leave these with her on your way out tonight."

Ashely introduced Ciara, a delicate and willowy girl with long red hair, pale blue eyes, and rosebud pink lips. Leaning in close with their heads together, "how do you boys feel about good rum? Meg asked Dean and Cas. They were both on board. Meg gave some instructions in Ciara's ear, and she nodded in agreement, shot a sultry smile at Dean, and headed off through a door marked PRIVATE. "Roman is here," Meg told the boys. "He's already told Ciara to take good care of us. His VIP area is just opposite us on the other side of the floor, so if you look directly over the all these people to the other side, you'll see him."

Dean wrapped an arm around her and pressed her against his chest, looking over her shoulder at the man whose face he'd studied on his laptop screen in 100 news articles. 

Meg bumped Dean's hip and signaled him to sit on the loveseat with her. He slouched and sprawled a bit, legs extended in front of him, one arm across the back of the sofa behind Meg. Cas sat in the club chair on Dean's other side. They settled in casual, like they owned the place. Listening to the house DJ, a pretty young boy, who was wrapping his set up because DJs Shale & Rainn, a rising house act was going to be on in a few minutes. There were heavy velvet ribbons draped from the ceiling, and attractive young men and women climbing into the catwalks. Cas gestured up to them, "acrobats," Meg told him. Cas and Dean exchanged a filthy look and Meg's chuckle .

Ciara returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Máximo and three whiskey glasses. She broke the seal, pulled the cork and placed it on the table in front of Dean. Then she splashed a small amount of the rum into one of the glasses, spun it once and passed it to him. Dean swirled it again, inhaled the scent and then poured the rum into his mouth letting the rich, caramel notes roll around on his tongue. He smiled at her and returned his glass to the table in front of her. She poured their drinks and placed the bottle on the table. Then she nodded at their small group and made her way back through the PRIVATE door. Dean sat up and raised his glass to Meg and Cas and took another sip. 

While they'd been introducing themselves to their rum, Ciara had returned with an elegant carafe of ice water and three tumblers. DJs Slate & Rainn were just finished setting up and were screaming greetings at the crowd while Ciara poured water and asked if they needed anything else before she returned with a plate of nuts and tropical fruit. Then the dance floor lit up as the progressive house DJs threw down a mashup of popular dance tracks. 

Dean laid little kisses on Meg's neck and kept his fingers casually gliding over her bare back and shoulders as she leaned forward to talk to him and Cas about this acrobat and her boyfriend's domestic in the alley last week she had to break up, that bartender they'd stolen from another club, Ciara who was the daughter of an important local lawyer. Most of these young, attractive men and women hosts were ASU students, Meg told them. The men worked the pool area more than the young women who tended to be assigned indoors. It was apparently about footwear on potentially wet surfaces, but several of the outdoor male hosts would do body shots with the patrons whereas that definitely didn't happen indoors. City ordinance or something.

Dean kept his other arm on the arm of the loveseat, close to Cas' on the arm of his chair. They touched hands frequently to get each others' attention, and Cas' face spent more than a little time close to Dean's ear. They were a study in casual touching. "Roman is watching us," Cas told Dean who drew Meg into his arms and told her what Cas had said. She probably heard it herself, but they were playing telephone as part of the show. "He can't take his eyes off you," Meg told Dean. "I didn't tell him who I was bringing tonight, but I'm sure he knew because I put your names on the list with mine. Ashley asked to be introduced to you because it's polite, but she was checking your names against the preapproved  VIP list."

Dean nodded and drawled slow and liquid, "you know, I'd like to see Cas dance. Think you could oblige me?"

Meg looked wickedly through her long eyelashes at Dean. "I think I might."

Then she stood up. Cas stood up with her, and she took his hand and led him through the security guy at the velvet rope and onto the dance floor to a remix of Posner's, "I took a pill in Ibiza." Dean stretched his arms above his head, emphasizing his torso and the length of his limbs. He knew the effect he had on men and women alike, and he wanted all of that effect working for him right now. He felt comfortably warm and relaxed, the sex pheromones and bass bumping just under his skin. This was an unreasonably beautiful crowd and he saw no reason not to revel in it, especially considering he was leaving tonight with the best looking people in this whole fucking place. He exhaled long, enjoying the flickering lightness of the buzz inside his own head, and leaned back, stretching out and settling in to survey his domain. This was his house. He saw Roman heading in his direction, and he caught Meg's eye on the dance floor. With a small gesture of his head he directed her toward Roman, and her smile quirked in recognition. She bumped back into Cas, and he caught her hips, turning them and pulling her in close. Message received.

(Note to readers: OK, have you ever searched the internet for pics of a person slouching? Heh. I have settled on two. Neither is perfect. Use your imaginations. I trust you. xo )

 

 

The DJs rolled into their next song -- one by The Weeknd, and Dean gestured to Ciara who was just leaving an alcove of tech dudes. He made a circling gesture at the glasses on the table and raised his index finger. She nodded and set off toward the bar. She was back with an empty whiskey glass just as Roman strode into Dean's alcove. Dean nodded and made a "come in" gesture without either taking his eyes off the dance floor or changing his posture.  Roman walked up to him and held out his right hand, "I'm Richard Roman, welcome to my club Detective Winchester."

Dean let mild interest flicker across his face along with a half smile, leaned forward and shook Roman's hand, "just Dean. I'm not working tonight. Why don't you sit down and let me pour you a drink?" He gestured to the chair Cas had been sitting in, and Roman pretended to think about it for a moment before he sat down."That's good looking rum," Roman told Dean, who poured a generous amount into the fresh glass, topped off his own, and then extended the new glass to Roman, "it was a gift," he said nodding his head toward the floor. Roman followed Dean's gaze as if he were looking for whomever Dean was with, as if he didn't explicitly know Meg had brought him.

Roman took a sip of the dark liquor and savored the taste on his tongue, face relaxed in pleasure. Dean could hate him but he couldn't blame him. This was a nice place. It was going to be a runaway success. And the rum really was good. Roman opened his eyes and he and Dean clinked glasses. Dean went back to watching Cas and Meg dance.

"You enjoying yourself, Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes, let that sexy half smile creep across his face again, ducked his head and then nodded it twice on the downbeat. "Yes, yes I am," he said in that slow burr women loved. Slitting his eyes, he noticed its similar effect on Roman. Interesting. Although desire comes in a lot of forms, which is something being a detective had taught Dean as much if not more about than anything he'd learned in school or in Bobby's kitchen table.

After a couple of minutes just enjoying their view, Roman leaned toward Dean, "I looked into you, you know?"

Dean reminded himself he was languid, relaxed, stoned, and his expression didn't pique. Self discipline, schooling his expressions was definitely a thing he'd learned living in John Winchester's house. Dean tipped his head slowly to one side as if listening to something and then turned to let his simmering green eyes settle on Roman's. He added just the smallest amount of smolder, "Hmm?"

Roman patted Dean's arm on the armrest and then continued gesturing with his hands as if manic energy alone could help him resist Dean's spell. Yeah, good luck. Much better men and women had tried. "I saw your press conference and the reports of what you'd done with those kids. I made a donation to the fund to bury their mother and sister. So terribly sad."

An emotional reaction was expected here, and Dean performed it, allowing his hands to briefly tense around his glass and his eyes to narrow and flare briefly in heated anger before he looked away from Roman and took another healthy sip of rum. Roman's eyes lit like he knew he's scored a hit. Too easy. 

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Detective."

Dean rolled his shoulders, drawing attention to their breadth and the length and grace of his neck that was framed and on display due to the lack of collar on his shirt and leather jacket. Yeah, Jess and Cas knew what they were doing. Then he let the rogue smile grace his face, the one everyone recognized as cocky swagger, "'ts fine. And it's just Dean."

"Yes, Dean." Roman nodded as if he'd been corrected, as if he hadn't called Dean detective on purpose.

"At any rate, I read your record. Commendations. Heroism. Community policing. Amazing closure rate. Rapid rise in the department. You're good. You're the real deal." Roman nodded again and raised his glass to Dean.  Dean let his eyes wander to Meg and Cas bouncing their way through the Chainsmokers "Something Just Like This," with the floor full of clubbers as women and men in very little clothing wound and unwound above them on those ribbons as if this were Cirque. As if that acrobat thing hadn't been done a thousand times in clubs up and down the west coast.

Dean leaned forward and set his glass on the table, and then leaned back against the couch rubbing his hands slowly up and down his thighs, Roman's eyes tracking his movements. "Well thank you, sir. And this club of yours is the real deal too. You're really making this your town." Roman puffed before him and Dean reminded himself to slow down. Feed the bastard in small drops. 

"Thank you, Dean. I like it. Can I ask you something?"

Dean smirked, eyes still on his dates, then he tilted his head at Roman, smirk lingering on his face and a little of the flirt in his voice, "can't guarantee I'll answer, but I might." Then he winked.

Roman laughed. "I like you kid."

"And thank you again." Dean let the smirk settle into relaxed curiosity.

"Seeing you on the news, you didn't strike me as the Old Town clubbing type."

Dean waited a beat but Roman didn't fill the gap, so Dean said "that's not a question."

Roman nodded like Dean had pointed out a genuine mistake. "Right. I guess I meant, you come off on TV as reserved and serious. Your record says you're serious. But you're in my club tonight looking like one of these Russian models," and he gestured emphatically at a group of women at the bar.

Dean chucked low, "I look like a gorgeous, six foot blonde woman with killer legs to you?"

Roman laughed too. "You're funny." And he seemed genuinely amused. "I mean, you're young, you're gorgeous, you're wearing a $6000 jacket, you're drinking $1400 rum, and you're sitting with your head back and your pupils blown. You remind me of arm candy at a particularly nice party."

Dean laughed again, a belly laugh this time like he thought this was very funny. Roman was a clumsy asshole. Dean checked off "narcissists aren't patient," on his mental list. Shit he should have turned this into narcissist BINGO. Roman laughed with him.

The DJ's rolled out a Latinx remix of Ed Sheeran's "[Shape of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOoMPmOp310&index=76&list=PLKvWsriongWaOBwWAh6aRO6pXVZkvHcau)," and Cas pulled Meg into a close hold as they took salsa steps across the floor, moving toward the center in front of Dean. "El club no es el mejor sitio para encontrar el amor...". The crowd cleared back a little as Cas spun Meg and then twisted their arms above their heads and turned beneath them. They spun, rotated sharply backwards and then forwards, their hips rolling, the sultry muscles of Meg's back and the fluid grace of Cas' hips set off by the flashing lights. So fucking hot. Dean settled deeper into the sofa, rolling his hips slightly, cock and long body on display. Roman's eyes narrowed. Heh. 

Cas pulled Meg into some hip rolls circling to the crowd, cheers went up. Dancers near them, circled them and began their own salsa steps, shoulders rolling, side steps, hip shakes, spins. It looked really fun. If you thought Meg slithering up the front of Cas, her hand on the back of his neck beneath his shirt and his hands low on her hips and on her ass was your idea of fun. Yes, please. They ground together in front of him as they made eye contact. And he let a dirty smile cross over his face at them. When the song moved into the acapella "come on be my baby" verses, the whole crowd sang and followed along with Meg and Cas' side-by-side salsa steps, hands up, shoulders and hips shaking. The crowd cheered again, and Cas pulled Meg in close and sucked a kiss into her neck as he ground against her. Dean laughed low, gods those two we going to kill him. He was definitely going to ask for a private performance later. 

Roman tapped his arm, "can I ask you something else?"

"Sure," Dean drawled, briefly glancing to Roman and returning his eyes to the dance floor.

"You're here with Meg Masters, right? I saw your name on the list as her guest."

Dean let the slow smile rise on his face again and nodded, "yes, I am."

Roman's posture stiffened. Another square in the Narcissist Bingo. "And you don't mind her dancing with that guy like that?"

Dean let the smile melt into the Winchester smolder again, "nope," he said and slowly turned his gaze fully on Roman. Who swallowed. 

"Can I ask why not?" Roman's expression was polite curiosity but his voice had an edge to it, as if he were offended on Dean's behalf. Dean nodded. 

"Well, one, because I'd never tell a woman what she could or couldn't do... and two," Dean let the smolder go dark and dirty savoring the flush on Roman's face, "he's my boyfriend." Point. Roman was shocked. And then very interested. He leaned toward Dean, the question plain on his face.

The song ended and the DJs threw praise on the hot dancers and the hot crowd, ramping them up and dropping a Calvin Harris song. Cas tugged Meg through the crowd.

Dean cocked his head at Roman, inviting the question. But Roman looked at the approaching bodies of Cas and Meg, Cas pulling off his jacket, both of their faces flushed, sweating and laughing. Cas had lipstick on his jaw and collar that was wide open now that he'd unbuttoned another button to cool off. Roman moved to stand up, but Dean waved him back in his chair. "Stay. I know Meg wants to thank you for inviting us tonight." Roman sat back in the chair, obeying Dean's command and not noticing it wasn't phrased as a request. And there goes another BINGO square. It made him laugh a full throated laugh as his dates came laughing into the little alcove. Dean tugged Cas down next to him on the couch, twining his fingers in Cas' while Meg sat in Dean's lap and greeted him with a simmering, tongued kiss. He pulled back, nuzzled her nose and cocked his head to Roman, "Meg say hi to your friend."

Roman, for his part, was nonplussed, which was pretty damned amusing, just the stunned expression on his face. Cas amused Dean by leaning in for his kiss while Meg exclaimed that she hadn't noticed Roman there because she was having so much fun. This club was so great. The night was the best. And she grabbed Dean's glass off the table and knocked back the rest of his rum in one swallow. Gods she could sell.

Roman stood up, "I don't want to impinge on your fun."

"Oh, stay," said Castiel standing with Roman. Who'd apparently forgotten all his manners at that point because he didn't introduced himself to Cas. 

"I couldn't," Roman told him, and then turned to Dean who moved Meg off of his lap and into the space vacated by Cas so he too could stand. He put out his hand, "it was nice meeting you, Richard." 

"Nice meeting you too, Dean." Roman slipped a business card out of his pocket, "please, call me. We should talk again. I think we could be friends."

Meg was on her feet, her arm around Dean's waist, and Castiel was busying himself filling water and rum glasses. "I'll see you tomorrow, Richard."

"Yes, see you tomorrow, Meg. Dean," Roman made the actual phone hand gesture, asshole, "call me, Dean." And with that, he turned and walked away. Dean pulled Cas into another lust and tongue filled kiss, grinding their hips together. Cas let out a low moan, and Dean growled and bit down on Cas' lip and tugged his hair, "you are so fucking sexy."

Meg threw herself in the club chair, legs over one of the arms, laughing a full throated as Dean and Cas settled into the loveseat, their own chuckles developing into laughter as Meg kicked her feet, her smile alight with evil. 

Fucking BINGO.

 

________________________________________________________________________________________

 

**EVERYONE GOES TO THE CLUB AND LOOKS PRETTY IMAGES**

Jess' Yurman ring for Dean

Jess' Yurman bracelet for Dean

 

Cas' Malachite beads

Dean's lapis beads from Cas

 

 

Dean's silver and bronze chain bracelet from Cas

Dean's Jeans 

Dean's Tom Ford Jacket

Cas' Tom Ford Jacket

Meg's Dress

Meg's Shoes

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be epic smut next, and then, I think, some real drama. And then, some fluff. Or fluff and smut. Probably that one. I did not set out to write this loooong thing. But here were are.


	28. The Things That Come Back to Bite You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That bitey thing Cas does. Also, sometimes Dean can't quite keep all the plates spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind of short chapter because I've been really stumped with a few things and I finally got unstuck and didn't want to hold this anymore. And this is why you have friends, dear ones. You say to your friend, "I'm stuck and I'm a mess," and your friend says, "nbd, we'll fix it." So, now this fic is wrangled back on track, and I owe a debt of love and footie massages to sarcasticbones. Go check out their work.

They piled into the car and rode back to the loft together, Dean against the left passenger door, Cas in the middle, Meg on the right.

With a smooth twist of her hips, she shifted in her seat, braced her back against the passenger side door, swung her legs over Cas' thighs and dropped her feet onto Dean's lap. "Gotta love the leg room in this car," she said voice heavy with mirth and promise. 

Cas licked his lips and slid his hand over her knee, fingers on her thigh humming in agreement. She flexed the muscle into his touch and smirked at him.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Dean deftly unbuckled one of her shoes and slipped it off capturing her bare foot in his hand. She squeaked in surprise and then melted into a decadent moan as he began rubbing slow circles with his thumb in her arch. "Oh god, Dean," she purred tipping her head back against the window.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at Cas and nodded to where Cas' hand was on Meg's thigh. Cas gave Dean a dark, sultry look, and then paused and leaned toward Dean to whisper, "I thought we agreed not to put on a show for drivers."

"We did, but this one works for Roman, right?"

Cas chucked and leaned over to whisper to Meg who nodded once, eyes closed as Dean continued his brain-melting foot massage.

Cas turned back to Dean and nodded, gaving him a wicked smile. Straightening and shifting slightly in his seat to get more comfortable, Cas began stroking small circles over Meg's thigh, his fingers lightly brushing the smooth texture of her fair skin. She shivered.

"Mmmmm," she purred low and dark.

Dean removed her other shoe and placed it next to the first, shifting a bit and placing the heel of her left foot against his hardening cock. Her eyes still closed, she offered him a small, throaty chuckle, "naughty boy," and ground her heel carefully.

Cas ran his fingers up her inner thigh skimming beneath the hem of her skirt, and she shimmied her hips a little lower, her skirt rising higher on her thighs - the soft vee of black panties peeking from between her legs. With the hand that wasn't pressing small circles between the ball of her foot, Dean fished his phone from his pocket, thumbed it to the photo app, and snapped a pic, flash flooding the interior of the car. 

"Send me that," Cas growled.

"Done."

Cas slipped his hand up her thigh to the crease knuckles grazing her labia through thin black silk. She met his hot gaze and licked her lips. He continued sliding his fingers high along her inner thigh and circling his knuckles on the upstroke. Her breath hitched, and she whispered, "dirty, pretty boy, you have such talented fingers."

"Am I next with those, then?" Dean asked, "I'd better be next, Cas."

Meg giggled at that and then gasped as Cas' fingers slipped beneath the silk and against her wet, hot skin. She arched her back and spread her thighs in invitation. And then his fingers were inside her, and she banged her head back against the window.

"Actually," Dean's voice rich and impossibly low, "now I'm wondering if maybe I'd rather share."

"No." Cas told him not taking his eyes off Meg, fingers rhythmic and deep. 

"No?" asked Dean, fingers smoothing the tender skin along the inside of her ankle. "Since when are you a selfish lover, Cas?"

The car pulled up to their building and Dean hopped out of the car, ran around to the passenger side, and pulled the door open, sweeping Meg into a bridal carry. Cas tossed a hundred over the front seat, grabbed Meg's shoes off the floorboard, and followed his partners into the building.

Mark pressed the button to call the elevator for the top floor as he saw Dean get out of the car and sweep Meg into his arms. He immediately deflected his gaze from Meg's long, bare legs, and buzzed open the front door as Dean bumped the door open with his hip and carried her through, Cas on his heels. Dr Novak, Ms Masters, Mr Winchester, Mark spoke softly as the elevator arrived. "G'night, Mark," Dean replied as they stepped into the elevator. 

Meg twisted her hips roughly and Dean set her down lest he drop her. "Hey!" he said in surprise as she shoved him toward Cas, who dropped her shoes on the floor, pinned Dean to the wall and thrust his finger's into Dean's mouth.

Dean let his head fall back against the elevator wall and opened his mouth, taking in the fingers without resistance, and sucking the taste of Meg from them. Slitting his eyes, he made sure he had Cas' attention, and increased the suction, just enough to hear Cas' breath stutter. Meg shimmied out of her underpants and stuffed them into Dean's jacket pocket as the elevator opened on their floor.

She grabbed her shoes, punched the "hold" button on the elevator, and then headed toward her door.

Dean caught Cas' hand and pulled the fingers from his mouth without actually letting the hand get very far from his face. "Hey! Where are you going?"

Meg shot over her shoulder as she let herself in her loft, "changing into something a little less special and then heading to the bar downstairs."

"But, I was kind of hoping for a private dance performance," Dean managed to get out while Cas occupied himself sucking the sensitive skin beneath Dean's ear.

"Another night, Gorgeous. I'm feeling like you two could use a little alone time, and there's a bar full of people down there who haven't yet tasted me tonight," and she slammed the door behind her. Cas chuckled against his ear, "disappointed?"

Dean allowed himself to be pulled him out of the elevator and toward their own front door, "not even a little."

 

***

With the door closed behind them, Cas shifted into that predatory grace Dean figured he needed to see a lot more of. He tossed his velvet smoking blazer over the back of the couch, then moving backwards into the loft, eyes still on Dean, removed his belt and tossed it in the same direction as the jacket. He toed out of his shoes and yanked free the tails of his shirt. He jerked his head at Dean who was still standing mesmerized in place. In response, Dean moved forward and dropped his own jacket onto the couch and toed out of his own shoes. Cas rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and then, with surprising speed, caught Dean's wrist, turned him, pushed him down backwards onto the couch and shoved his fingers back in Dean's mouth saying, "now, where we were?" 

Dean let himself go boneless and wrapped his tongue around each of Cas' fingers individually, licking over them thoroughly before moving on to the next, and then when he finished with the individual fingers, he increased the sucking pressure, hollowing his cheeks. "Mmmm, very good," Cas growled, "bed?" Dean nodded and Cas removed his fingers with an obscene little pop. He rose up from the couch (was that yoga? pilates?) and then extended his hand to pull Dean up after him. The rest of his clothes went on the couch with the jackets and Dean followed his example, undressing quickly and without discussion. Walking backwards, Cas pulled Dean along with him and then on top of him as the back of his calves hit the mattress. 

Dean was lost in a full-bodied kiss, long warm limbs pressed close, hands tight in his hair, pulling him even closer, velvet tongue licking into his mouth, skimming his palate and then entangled with his own. When Dean pulled back to breathe, every inch of his body was aligned with and covering Cas'. Dean snorted. "Heh!"

"What?" Cas murmured smoothing one hand along Dean's throat and shoulder.

"I'm on top," Dean said smugly, bumping their noses together and pressing his hips into Cas' below him to reinforce his point.

Cas chuckled dirty and rolled them. In a blur, Dean was flipped onto his stomach with Cas spread over his back, pressing him into the mattress. "Are you, Dean?" he whispered, sucking the freckled shell of Dean's ear into his mouth. Dean's left arm was pinned beneath him, and Cas had his right hand pinned to the mattress. 

Dean moaned as Cas ground his hard length against Dean's ass. Cas pressed soft kisses against Dean's shoulder and then tongued and nipped his way down to his shoulder blade where he left a series of small, sucking bites.

"Mmmmm" Dean groaned as clever fingers skimmed beneath his body and pulled his back tightly to Cas' chest.

With his left arm around Dean's neck and his right around Dean's chest, Cas kissed down Dean's ear, flicking his tongue inside, and then nipping his earlobe, hot breath raising goosebumps along Dean's shoulders and causing an involuntary shiver. A sultry whisper against Dean's ear: "how do you feel about a little pain, Dean?"

Dean pressed back into Cas, reveling in the feel of tongue, teeth and breath against his neck, unfurling in a low whisper, "a little pain? I'm a fan."

Without preamble, Cas growled hot and sank his teeth into the capitis muscle along the back of Dean's neck. Dean hissed and bucked, and Cas held him close, grinding the bite and sucking firmly. Dean groaned and Cas pulled back bare millimeters, murmuring "just breathe, breathe, baby" and fitted his teeth back over the muscle pulling hard. Dean huffed out a breath as the razor sharp sting of teeth and suction shot through his neck and down his spine. Cas' arms clasped him tightly, sucking and pulling the bite while Dean fought for control over his breathing, in and out, in and out, forcing himself into surrender to the searing waves. Cas was impossibly strong, holding him firmly, hot against his back, tongue and mouth wet on his neck, shivers running down his arms and legs. So fucking strong. Dean was groaning and gasping, that bright burn slicing through him shutting down all rational thought and he just felt. Bright, white, blazing, exquisite pain. Until, something black and deep slithered inside his head. He tumbled forward through it. And then his body flooded with liquid pleasure rolling from his neck, down his spine, shooting straight to his groin.

Dean moaned, louder and longer this time, stretching his head forward to expose even more of the back of his neck. "Oh. Oh, gods, Cas..." Another snarl from Cas as he bowed Dean's neck with the pressure and holy fuck was that good. The endorphins washed over him, and he was riding that edge, eyes shut, hands grasping for purchase in the bed linens, breath harsh and keening.  

Cas released Dean's neck, licked the large, purpling bruise with its neat, white teeth marks, moved a few millimeters down the muscle and bit down sharply again. Dean groaned into it this time, just diving off the cliff, flexing his spine, and grinding his ass against Cas' cock. His mouth open and panting, pulse pounding, cock throbbing, fists clenched and twisted in sheets, an endless stream of moans and curses. Time did that suspension thing it seemed to do around Cas' bed, and Dean was rolling as Cas left one more matching, searing slow bite along the other side of the back of Dean's neck. 

He pulled his panting boyfriend into his arms and soothed the goosebumps running his hands up and down his arms. Dean grunted as he melted into the touch, "fuck, baby. I would probably have come just from that if you hadn't stopped."

Cas chuckled darkly into Dean's hair, "I only stopped because I'm not done with you yet."

Dean rolled onto his back, his neck burned and ached against the cool pillowcase. The dull throb made a smile twitch over his lips as he looked up at his messy-haired, puffy-lipped monster. He raised his hand to brush the hair off Cas' forehead, and Cas caught the hand and placed a hard-edged, sucking kiss on the delicate spot inside his wrist. He raised his other hand and Cas caught that one too, rolling on top of Dean and pinning his hands to either side of head. Their cocks slid together and Dean hissed at the white-shock pleasure flooding his over-stimulated nervous system. Dean gasped out as Cas mouthed along his jaw flaring sparks over the surface of his skin. Jesus. Fuck that guy and his teeth.

Cas laughed a full throated laugh, his tone wrecked on sex and desire.

"Shit. I said that a loud, didn't I?" Dean asked.

"Mmhmm," Cas replied as he sucked a nipped his way beneath Dean's jaw and over his jugular tasting the pulse beneath the skin. "I'm going to get you some water. And we should probably have a conversation or two."  
  
Dean huffed out a laugh in between stuttered breaths, "are these going to be the fun kind of conversations?"

And Cas was nuzzling Dean's throat, sliding their bodies together, holding his wrists tightly, "mmmm. If talking about sex is as fun for you as it is for me, then yes."

"Are you going to bite me again?" Dean said into Cas' lips as their tongues came together, and he relaxed his jaw and let Cas fully into his mouth. 

Whatever answer Cas may have given was lost as he surged forward, filling Dean's mouth with his tongue, bruising their lips together and grinding their bodies hard against each other. Cas released Dean's hands to bury them in his hair, tilting Dean's head back to more fully consume him. Dean wrapped his legs around Cas' thighs and pulled him impossibly closer and let Cas devour him, using his newly found freedom to grab handfuls of Cas and squeeze hard leaving, he was sure, eight neat crescent-shaped nail marks in Cas' muscular ass. Cas growled into his mouth and nipped Dean's tongue, and then pushed back in deeply, thumbing Dean's jaw open. This was going to get a little rough, which wasn't Dean's normal playbook, but goddamn if he wasn't loving it. Dean had all the theories about fucking -- leading, being attentive, following cues, the generative function of dirty talk (yes, alright, he'd been to college). He was kind of looking forward to discussing them all, in detail, hands on, with Cas. But right now, he only wanted to lose himself in the feel of a  lover with comparable strength, size, and ..heh ... pain threshold. He dug his fingers in again, pulling on Cas' ass cheeks and pressing up with his hips as Cas tugged his hair.

Cas sucked his tongue once more, and then, with obvious regret, pulled back. "Maybe. Water first. Then talk."

Dean sprawled back onto the bed, body on full display. Cas paused to take him in and chuckled again at the wanton expression Dean was deliberately wearing. "You. Don't move. I'll be right back."

Which, that was a thing Dean should maybe have paid attention to, but on their way to bed, Cas had snagged both their phones and tossed them onto the nighttable, and Dean needed his on the charger. 

Dean's phone had several texts. Damn. He didn't want to, but he needed to check them. These were from Jess, which was, in the sum of things, not the worst possible scenario but not the best either. The best would be, like, AT&T sending him an autotext that his bill had been paid electronically. Or maybe a text from Jo of a dirty joke she'd heard. Worst case was anything work-related. But texts from Jess were pretty high up there on Dean's list of interruptions he'd accommodate.  So, he thumbed his message app open and found she'd sent him several screen captures from Instagram with a note, "Dean, have you seen these?"

One was a picture of Dean with Cas in his lap exchanging a deep and handsy kiss. Another was of Meg table dancing in front of Dean. And the last one was Meg giving Cas a lap dance and Dean looking on with a predatory expression. All were tagged with the club's hashtag, but also the Phoenix PD's instagram ID. The pic of Cas in Dean's lap was tagged with LGBTQ tags and the one of Dean looking on while Meg was grinding in Cas' lap -- oh, that one had a little play symbol on it, the original on Insty must be a video -- inspired a lengthy discussion of polyamory and an assortment of threesome-related tags.

Jess had captured several other comments too, and they were ... lurid. A couple were dirty enough that they made Dean laugh at how interested people were (and how creatively they expressed themselves) about getting in on his action. 

There was no doubt that these commenters firmly positioned Dean as a bisexual cop with an overt lifestyle. 

A couple of the comments expressed gratitude that the PD had assigned a bi cop to investigate the crime spree downtown. And more than a few wondered how Dean got any investigating done at all when he clearly preferred his social life. The last message was "please call Sam." OK.

 

Cas settled back into the bed passing Dean a glass of water, "drink all of that." And the warm smile took the sting out of, "I am sure I told you not to move."

Dean's tone was contrite, "I'm sorry. It's Jess. She and Sam found some social media of our night out. She wants me to call. 

"Of course, Dean. Do you want to use my office?"

"No, babe. Here is fine. Just give me a minute." Dean thumbed Siri and told her to call Sam. 

 

 

"Dean!" Sam answered, "you got Jess' texts?"

"Yep. How'd she see these pics?"

"She follows the Phoenix PD on social media."

"That's really sweet. I didn't realize."

"Yeah, you're kind of an idiot."

"So, I am. So what do you need?"

"What do I need? Are you OK? I know you're out-ish, but this is kind of high profile for you. We thought you should know."

"Yeah, I'm good. Great even."

Sam didn't respond and the seconds ticked by.

"You mad I didn't invite you, Sammy?"

"No, dude. Gross!"

Wait, what? "O-kay..." Dean said slowly leading Sam with the second syllable. 

The phone was muffled for a moment and it sounded like Jess and Sam were discussing something. 

"Look, Dean, there are pics of you and Cas and a girl with purple and brown hair partying. It looks pretty wild."

"I don't know about 'wild', but we had a good time."

"Jesus, Dean, you know you could just look at the pictures instead of making me spell it out for you," Sam huffed in frustration.

"Why? I was there. Much better than pictures, I promise you that. And speaking of promises, can I get back to my date now?"

"No, Dean! Jesus! Just take your cock out of Goth Guy's mouth for a second and listen!" Sam snarled into the phone. Dean heard Jess say Sam's name sharply. And then a bit more muffled discussion that was definitely arguing.

Sam came back on the line, "Dean..."

"No, Sam. Stop. Before you say another word. If you ever take that tone or say something snide like that about Castiel again, it will be the last thing you do," Dean's voice was cold and quiet. His, "I raised you, kid," voice. The one he'd pulled out only twice before. Once when Sam drove himself home after one too many beers, and once when Sam's high school girlfriend thought she maybe was pregnant and Sam was panicking and sulking.

Sam drew a deep breath and let it out audibly. "I'm sorry, man. Gross. Ugh. I'm an asshole.  I'm just worried." Dean could hear the regret in Sam's voice. OK.

"Why are you worried, kid?"

Sam drew another deep breath. "They're not just pics of you practically having a threesome in public. This is social media, Dean. People are using your name and talking about how hot you are, how much you seem to be enjoying your lovers, how they want in on that. It's just, like, I don't know who I'm looking at. Like, I know and accept you can do whatever you like. I just feel like disconnected - we just feel disconnected. And we're worried because like, if you're going to get really public like this, and people are going to know so much about you, it might make your job - I dunno, rough. We want to help protect you. And you haven't told us what to do."

"OK, Sammy. I appreciate what you're saying."

Sam snorted, sounding maybe a little pissed.

"No, I do, man. I appreciate it. But one, I've never been all that vanilla, and two, I don't need you two to protect me."

"So exhibitionism and public sex is a thing now that you're going to do and we're just somehow not a part of all that?"

"Wait, now. Cas is the exhibitionist! I'm just along for the ride." Cas shot him a cheeky grin, "and all our clothes were on."

"Except Cas' hand up Meg's skirt."

"Oh, I remember that. He was helping her adjust her panties. If she did it, it would look tacky." Cas laughed aloud and then did something lurid with his tongue that derailed Dean's train of thought. Yeah. Time to wrap this up.

"Dean!"

"Really, Sam. I'm sorry if you're embarrassed, but I promise you, this is fine. Everything is going to be fine."

Dean heard Sam muffle the phone and obviously there was additional discussion between Jess and Sam, who didn't sound thrilled when he came back on the line.  
  
"Dude, do you even listen? We're not embarrassed -- we're never embarrassed by you. Fuck. We're out of the loop. And that's just not how we do things."

Dean sighed and Cas grabbed his hand, grounding him with a squeeze of fingers. "Because I don't tell you everything, buddy. You're my brother, and I will always protect you, but you're not in the loop just now, ok?"

And Jess' voice came over the line and Dean should have realized she' be listening. And he reminded himself to send her some brownies or cookies or something because Jess never complained about being the glue that held him and Sammy together. "Dean, when will we be in the loop?"

"Hey, Jess," Dean sighed again.

"Hey, Dean." She sounded tired.

"Baby girl, can you put me on speaker?"

She huffed a low laugh, and he imagined her nodding. "Okay, we're both here."

"Sam, Jess, you're my family. Our family is everything to me. Not my job, my family. But sometimes doing my job is going to get messy for our family. But I promise you, I'm fine. My job is fine. My relationship with Cas is new and good. Meg and her purple hair is all kinds of fun. I appreciate your concern, and I realize even though you haven't said it, that maybe this is just a lot for us to figure out how it fits together. I'm sorry for that. We're gonna work it out." Dean paused to breathe, and Cas brushed his cheek with soft fingertips.

"Sam really is sorry about what he said about Cas."

"I know, baby girl."

"I'm going to kick his ass for it when we get off this call."

"OK."

"Dean?" It was Sam now. 

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Now I'm worried about whatever's going on that you're not telling me."

"I know."

"You can't tell me anything?"

Dean sighed again. Thinking back through this discussion, he realized he hadn't been at his best. He'd missed a lot of cues.

"It sounds like we need to have a family meeting, guys," Dean said. "I need to clear some things first, so maybe dinner Monday night?"

"We can do that," Jess answered quickly before Sam could say anything. 

"OK. Give me a few days to work some stuff out, and then I'll tell you what I can."

"Love you, Dean."

"Love you too, Jess. Gnight, Sammy."

"Gnight, Dean." And Dean thumbed off the call, sighed and looked over at Cas who had propped himself up on a huge pile of pillows and spread his legs, pulling Dean in between them, wrapping his arm's around Dean's chest, and holding him there.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, babe?" Dean relaxed back into Cas' arms.

"Let's invite them to the Halloween party."

"Good idea. Want to come to family dinner Monday night?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. They need you right now, and I gather, you need to talk to them about Adam."

"You're my family too, Cas."

"Mmmm. Want to exchange blow jobs and get some sleep?"

"What about our talk?"

"I think we've talked enough tonight."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in here with me. More updates soon.


	29. You Don't Fuck With the House of Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh so much plotty mcplotting happens in here. words are said. things are done. lots of stuff comes out into the open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only lightly edited. apologies for any errors. i'll try to come back and clean it up later.
> 
> and again, 10,000 kisses for [sarcasticbones](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticbones/pseuds/sarcasticbones) who stepped in last week and helped me wrangle this story back on track. the last chapter you read and this chapter are the result of her creative kinkering and agile topping. or something. just go with it <3

Sam set the phone down on the nighttable and rolled into Jess' arms laying his head on her breast. She wrapped him in her right arm and stroked through his hair with her left hand. "I love you, Sam," she told him softly.

Sam sighed and sniffled then snuggled more tightly against her body, arms pulling her close breathing in her sweet, rosy perfume.

She tried again, "so, why don't you tell me why you're so conflicted about Cas."

"Not conflicted. Dean says he loves the guy, so that's good enough for me" he said into her chest.

She loved him so. She loved both of these Winchester men, but if John were still alive, she'd cut him to ribbons for how he'd forced these two extraordinary and complicated people into his own narrow mold. True, Sam was the emotional and rebellious one and Dean was the dutiful son and father figure to basically an entire community. But that was just surface stuff. Practically caricatures, really. Beneath those surfaces were where John's influence was well and truly wrought - two men who struggled to choose themselves over what they thought everyone wanted from them, two men who never looked very closely at their own internal responses because their own needs might be in there somewhere and god forbid anyone think of a Winchester man as a person with needs. Or maybe that wasn't exactly it, either. Although that was in there. It was also a deep-seated skepticism that things could be simple, good, and right. And every time one of those boys, after much internal wrestling, finally accepted a good thing, it changed nothing. The next good thing was looked upon with the same dark skepticism, and Jess was back at the beginning. 

She used her hand to gently tilt Sam's face so she could look at him, "want to try that again?"

He sighed heavily, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I think you meant to say that you don't know where I want you to start."

Another long sigh. "OK, baby, there are things to be said, but I don't know what to make of them or where to start. Cas rubs me the wrong way. He and those coffee shop people bug me."

"Why?"

Sam started to list how they were inconsiderate and how he felt like they picked on him. "Gah!" he complained, "I sound like a middle school kid who's whining about not being one of the popular kids."

"Nothing wrong with wanting to be accepted, Sam," she whispered in a kiss on his forehead, "and that was a hard time for you, you'd just lost your dad."

"So you think I'm jealous that they pick on me instead of accepting me?"

"I sort of want you to figure it our for yourself while talking to me."

"You know I hate that you did a psych rotation."

"No you don't."

Sam nuzzled against her, "you're right, I don't. So, it's not just that I want them to like me. Give me another hint!" he said hopefully. It was cute.

"OK. You said Cas was 'sexy cat guy' three times, and basically every time you mention him it's to tack an adjective onto him, like 'goth guy,' and 'Dean's boytoy,' it's never just Cas."

"Huh." Sam gave it some thought. Yeah, it stung that they always seemed like they were mocking him when he returned their stuff. They moved in right next to him and did all sorts of wacky stuff and never really even talked to him or asked him if he wanted to join in their efforts -- efforts that both seemed fun and could help both their businesses. I mean, that crazy Halloween party could have been a half block party, at least, if he'd been involved. So, that made sense. He wanted to be neighbors and they were just doing their thing oblivious of him.

But reflecting on what Jess said about labeling Cas was also true. Oh fuck.

"You think I'm attracted to Dean's boyfriend!?" Sam was appalled. 

"Sexually? Not exactly. Like, I do not worry that you are dumping this fine body for him, baby, but he's subversive, confident, transgressive, and impulsive. A bunch of things you've never been encouraged to be. Things you are, but like, only when you're with me, or when you're with Dean."

Sam thought about that. Turned it over in his head. Jess was leading him through everything, which he appreciated actually. Sure it would be easier if she just told him the answers, but they were his feelings, and he'd been working for years on trying to own them.

Yeah, Cas was appealing. He'd caught Sam's attention the first time Sam had seen him through the coffee shop window, barefoot, baggy shorts, band tee, splattered in paint and spackle, hair messy, laughing with the younger guy, utterly unselfconscious. It was fucking  _appealing_. And that appeal had captured his older brother's heart, which, who knew that could even happen? And if Sam poked around in there long enough he'd discover, yep, that was a sore spot. Dean came to Sam and Jess to cut loose. It had always been the three of them, and Sam was braver, lighter, and just better when he was with Dean. 

"Oh, gods, Jess. I'm basically a Greek tragedy up in here!"

Jess laughed and rolled on top of Sam. "No! No! You're a little brother! You and Dean are close. Of course you love the same things. Have you ever asked Dean how he felt about when I came onto the scene?"

"He loved you, obviously!"

"Did he?"

"Of course! He loves you more than he loves me. You're his baby sister. He's always wanted someone like you."

"Huh. Really? Hmmm."

Her tone caught his attention -- something there just under the surface. Sam thought about that, looking up at his oversized tee clad goddess with her sun-highlighted hair and rosy pink lips. "Wait. I'm getting something here."

She giggled and sat up next to him, crossed legged, just waiting him out.

A few minutes passed as Sam revisited the last several years.

"Oh! You're saying he met you and wanted you and then shoved you into the 'little sister' category because WE LIKE THE SAME THINGS! OHMYGOD!" And Sam was laughing his ass off and blushing furiously. "OHMYGOD! HAHAHAHA!" They were laughing together.

"So, wait, hang on,"  Sam gasped, "let me do the thing where we put it all together. So, I'm jealous because I wanted the coffee shop fun people to be my friends but they didn't try. I'm attracted to Cas because he's things I'd like to be, and that appeals to me, and Dean and I are into the same traits anyway, so that is totally understandable, and also I'm jealous because you and Dean and I have always been a threesome with some wicked undertones I enjoy while pretending I don't notice, and now he's got a new threesome and I'm grumpy about it and feeling left out. DID I GET IT ALL!?"

Sam had his happy puppy face on and she was giggling at it because for the first time in awhile, that weird frustration of his that tinted everything was gone. "I think you got almost all of it, babe!" She tugged his hair playfully.

"Wait! What'd I miss?"

"Oh, Sam," she smiled warmly, "baby, you're my favorite human on earth, but I practically had to club you over the head and drag you back to my bed to get you to notice me."

He blushed again at the memory of how aggressive she'd been the first time he found her alone on the patio at a college party. "I couldn't believe someone as hot as you wanted me though! That's fair! You were so out of my league!"

She giggled and an attractive pink warmed her cheeks. Sam. 

"Right. So, those coffee shop people have been flirting with you and pulling your pigtails for weeks and you haven't noticed."

"No! They're picking on me!"

"They're flirting with you!"

"They make fun of me!"

"They call you Hot Pockets behind your back!"

"Wait, they do what!?!?!" Sam sputtered.

Jess laughed again, "Jo told me they do all this stuff to make you come into their shop so they can flirt with you and then watch your fine ass as you walk back out all miffed and sassy."

"They do not!"

"Oh, yes they do."

"Wait, how long have you known this!?"

"I don't know.  A couple of weeks, maybe?"

And Sam launched himself onto her, pinning her to the bed and tickling her. She squealed and kicked but he really did have 100 pounds on her. 

 

***

 

Dean woke sprawled in the ridiculously comfortable bed with sunlight pouring in through the white linen curtains and Solo snugged against his shoulder, front paws wrapped around his throat. Cute. He smelled coffee but didn't see or hear Cas. Running then. He rubbed absently at a sore spot on his neck before the memories flooded back to him. Jesus. 

He got up and used the facilities, brushed his teeth, and then rummaged around in the bathroom until he found a small shaving mirror. Turning his back to the large wall mirror, Dean angled the small shaving mirror so he could see the back of his neck. It was purpled and reddened in three large patches that threatened to blend together. Jesus. He explored the bruises with his fingers, prodding them gently. They were warm to the touch and a little sore, but otherwise just a little swollen. Not particularly painful. Sensitive though. Huh. 

He pulled on some boxers and then wandered into the kitchen to pour some coffee. He used his laptop to google sex and biting, and read a couple of sites idly as he filled his daily caffeine quota. He'd left hickies before and certainly had his share. He just was apparently a little out of the loop that intense biting was a BDSM thing. Which, didn't bother him in the least, actually. That it was a BDSM thing. Dean liked all kinds of sex play, and he was [up for basically anything](http://www.andpop.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/dean6.gif). He always agreed to whatever his lovers suggested or asked for, which, now that he thought about it, made him the responsive lover he was proud to be. But he never really asked for things himself. Not something he'd reflected much on. Huh. He'd never had to really seduce anyone either, his charm and eyelashes took care of that for him. So was Cas a Dom though? Because Dean wasn't a sub. Although Dean had socially known a Dom or two and Cas wasn't like them. He and Cas had had some really fun vanilla sex, and the Doms he knew didn't really. So, wait, if Meg was involved was it still vanilla? Oh, this was going to be a fun conversation. Dean thought it was one they should have in bed with alcohol, pie, and maybe chocolate syrup. Or maybe in the bath. With waterproof toys. Hmmm. He'd work on it.

He checked the clock. Yeah. Game time. 

Letting himself out onto Cas' balcony and pulling the door closed behind him, Dean called the number in his phone for Anita.

Deputy Police Chief Anita Richardson answered, "Winchester?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What have you got for me?"

"I met Richard Roman at his club last night. We had drinks paid for by my informant who will be expensing the cost to her employer as is her procedure. Roman gave me his card and said he wanted to be friends. My informant, Meg Masters, monitored him all last week. She has several mobile phone photographs of him talking with people she thinks may be involved in his criminal activities. She uploaded them to her cloud account, and we have a link to download them that I will text to this number when we end this call. She's observed him again with Lt Singer's foster son, Adam. Through various discussions, she has arranged for Adam to be among the security people at tonight's theater charity event. I'm waiting for a text from her now. Given our attention-seeking behavior last night, she and I expect Roman to mention me to her today. And she'll use that opportunity to suggest he invite me to this event tonight. If that comes together, I'll make contact with Adam at the event and try to ascertain why he's reaching out to Lt Singer through specific details at the crime scenes."

She considered that a moment and then added, "Good work, Winchester. I saw some of the club images on Instagram -- you looked very convincing."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Cheeky aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you sleeping with Ms Masters? Because even though the US Military fell all over themselves to endorse and recommend her as an operative, this may go to trial, and sleeping with her is a problem."

"I'm not. If you subpoena and pull the video surveillance footage from this building, the Luhrs, for last night, you'll very clearly see and hear us separating for the evening. There are cameras in the lobby, the elevator, and in the hallway on the 14th floor. That footage demonstrates that Castiel Novak and I entered this residence alone together last night and stayed here all night."

"So there's audio too?"

"Yes ma'am. They capture video and audio in their elevators. You'll clearly hear me asking her to come in and her declining."

"It would be better if she had asked to come in and you two had declined."

"She and I discussed that, ma'am. And we agreed that while a jury might prefer me defending my virtue, that it was less than believable if Roman had someone monitoring us. It doesn't make sense that I would turn down a threesome given my documented behavior earlier in the evening. And also, because we have video and audio of our meeting where she and I planned this evening, to go along with the paperwork I've filed detailing this op, we decided the prosecutor would be more than able to explain if someone questioned the propriety of my relationship with the informant. She uploaded the recordings of those discussions to the same cloud file with the photos for you."

"But you have slept with her."

"Not since she signed and I filed the informant paperwork, ma'am. And our liaison is detailed in the attachments to that paperwork wherein I describe the circumstances that led up to the conversation where I discovered that she might have inside information about the Roman case."

"I read it. I was just confirming. Your reports are very detailed, organized and clean, Winchester."

"Thank you, ma'am. And who said that English minor wouldn't pay off."

"Or that your experience clubbing wouldn't pay off."

Dean remained silent at that just waiting for her to continue.

"And you've maintained your distance from your partner and your lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am. As you and I discussed, they're both aware I'm working a lead, and that I will bring them in when I develop it. That will probably buy me a few days."

"Good. What can you accomplish in a few days?"

"Well, if I can get Adam Singer alone tonight, maybe a lot. As I understood it when you and I met with the prosecutor, he thought that if I could get Adam to agree to a meeting with him, then he could see what Adam knew, they could strike a deal, and this whole thing could be over. So, with just a few days, I think I can persuade Adam, connect him to the prosecutor and then the prosecutor can tell us what moves he needs us all to make so he can get in front of the grand jury and issue his subpoenas."

"OK. What about your informant?"

"She's been in contact with her agency, they'll reassign her to training in their Los Angeles offices while the case is being built so she can readily come out here or call if she's needed."

"Good. And what about her safety? Roman, if he's responsible for half of the corruption we suspect, is a dangerous person."

"I asked her, and she said not to worry. She can take care of herself."

The deputy chief chuckled at that. Again Dean held his silence.

"Have you decided on a reporter to do your sit down with after this is over. Restore the luster and professionalism to our ranks so to speak."

"Yes, ma'am. I was thinking that Begaye kid from the Phoenix Today website."

"Interesting choice. Why him?"

"Well, I like his website. They do investigative journalism and local interest pieces. They have the digital infrastructure to host audio and video files as well as other forms of media as you decide to release them. I read his work, and he's good. He's given fair and critical coverage of us over the last few years. And he's an Arizona native from an old family. I think the downtown community will appreciate that."

"I agree. I'll clear it with PR."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"So, how are you planning on getting Adam Singer alone?"

"I'm going to hit on him."

She laughed again, predatory. All cops like to win.

"Anything else I need to know now, Winchester?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like your permission to discuss some of this with my brother, Sam and his wife Jessica Moore at our family dinner on Monday night."

"Moore is a doctor, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your report indicated that both you and Sam viewed Adam Singer as a foster sibling through your complex relationship with Lt Singer's family after the death of your father."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what is your need to open this very small information loop to your brother and Dr Moore?"

Dean audibly sighed then. How to put this in words while still retaining his professionalism. "Our brother is out there in a bad situation, and I'm going to find him and pull him out. Once the legal stuff is sorted, the personal stuff is going to kick in. Sam and Jess need to get ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Well, the three of us will certainly fund his legal defense - I make no claim otherwise, I'm on this kid's side. If he goes to jail, so be it. But if there's any way to spare him, he'll live with me or he'll live with Sam while he gets treatment and finds his way again. Probably longer."

"Treatment, son?"

Dean was only about ten years younger than Anita Richardson, a brilliant and ambitious cop who'd come up through the gang units to homicide and into administration. She was a certified badass, so she got to call him son. But only just.

"My informant, who you know has military contacts, feels there are underlying issues behind Adam's discharge from the Army. My sister-in-law, Jess, is not a psychiatrist, but she's our family expert in trauma and she'll be the person we ask to take the lead on helping Adam suss out what he needs and make the arrangements for it. My brother, Sam, is still licensed to practice law. He doesn't do it for anyone but the family, but he is our family legal counsel, and he will be the person we ask to help Adam find criminal representation and then navigate the trial and through the VA and other mental health resources."

"What about your partner?"

"Jo? She's close to me and friends with my sister-in-law, but she's never met Adam."

"Detective, I met your life partner, Dr Novak."

Oh. Life partner. That warm thrumming behind his heart kicked in again. 

"What about Cas, ma'am?"

"If you're going to make Adam Singer a family project, and if you intend to fund his defense, take responsibility for him before the courts, and perhaps even move him in with you, should Novak also not be brought into this loop?"

"I hadn't thought that would be professional, ma'am."

"I'm just being practical, detective. If you tell your brother and sister-in-law, it will likely be impossible to keep this information from the man you live with."

"You're right, ma'am. That would be ... messy."

"Twenty years of marriage, Winchester."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright. You're doing well. Send me that link, I'll get those files as well as the surveillance and add them to the case file. Let's talk again tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, ma'am."

And then Dean was standing in the sun staring at his phone. He could do this. Just a few more pieces needed to fall his way and this would be over. He'd really be glad when he could put himself in front of Ellen again and tell her Adam was OK. His phone was ringing, and it was Meg inviting him to a fund raiser tonight. Roman was standing behind her exhorting Dean over her shoulder about how he wouldn't take no for an answer and that it promised to be a great party. Alice Cooper, a long time Paradise Valley resident was hosting the evening, and Jimmy Eat World was going to perform an acoustic set. Some other local musicians. Dean agreed he'd be there, and Meg told him to meet her downstairs at 6:45PM. 

He sent two texts to Anita's number - the link to Meg's cloud account and a confirmation that he would be attending a fundraiser tonight.

Then he turned and walked into the house. He'd seen Cas come in a few minutes before and waved to him through the glass. Cas was probably in the shower. He probably needed someone to wash his back. Yep. No one could say Dean Winchester wasn't a helpful son of a bitch.

***

After a long and sultry shower, Dean and Cas were back at the kitchen counter with chicken salad sandwiches and white bean salad from Zoe's. Cas had made a pot of peach-infused oolong tea they were drinking over ice. Dean had just told Cas he was going out with Meg tonight, and Cas was talking about catching a movie with Kevin.

"I've got to tell you something, babe."

"What's that, Dean?"

"Well, it's two things, actually. Wait. It might be three." Dean ticked things off on his fingers as he thought while Cas smiled on indulgently.

"OK, it's I have two things to ask you and two things to tell you. So that's four things."

Cas chuckled then, "I don't know what you're stalling around, but now I'm anxious to hear it."

Dean took a deep breath, "questions or statements first?"

"Um, I'll take statements, please."

Another deep breath. "OK, one, as you know, I'm running an investigation that Meg is helping me with. But what you don't know is that I've been given permission to bring you into the loop by my commanding officer, and she isn't my lieutenant." 

Cas looked confused, "I'm not sure what that means, Dean."

He thought about it for a moment, "yeah, that's because the way I said it was confusing. The investigation I'm running is undercover and secret. Because Adam is my LT's son, I'm keeping him out of it so as not to bias the case. And I'm trying to pull Adam out by getting him some kind of prosecutorial deal, so Bobby needs to be out of it so there's not even a whiff of favoritism. Instead, I'm running this with someone in the chief's command as a special task force of just her and I with Meg consulting. Her name is Anita Richardson, and she's the deputy chief for investigations."

"OK. And since we agreed to keep me separate from your work while you were involved in this stressful investigation, I'm assuming there's a good reason you're telling me this?" Cas looked at Dean's face in profile as Dean stared into his glass of tea.

"Um, yeah, I've been given permission to bring Sam and Jess into it so they can start working on the resources Adam's going to need. This is a family problem, and we Winchesters are going to work it together. And you're my family too, Cas."

Cas took Dean's hand and held it. They passed a few moments in silence, Cas letting Dean organize his thoughts.

"OK, so my questions. First, come to the family dinner Monday night, Cas, please? Let's sit down with Sam and Jess and talk all this out together as a family."

Dean was awfully young to be at the front of a family, Cas thought. His beloved grandfather was always who Cas thought of when he thought about fathers and families. Old, wise, secure, stable, strong. But in front of him was this young, beautiful, vital man with glowing green eyes who'd built a life for himself and his people with little more than his unconditional love and his dauntless sheer force of will. 

 "Of course I'll go with you. And we'll work this out, Dean. Whatever Adam needs."

Dean squeezed Cas' hand again, "thanks, Cas."

"What's your next question, Dean?"

Dean's green eyes took on a hint of dark mischief, and Cas felt his skin warming beneath that seductive gaze, "it's actually probably a bunch of questions." And Dean slowly lifted his hand and deliberately ran it across the back of his neck, stretching his torso, watching Cas' eyes focus on his body and follow it slowly up his throat to his face.

"Hmmmmm?" Cas asked not pulling his gaze from Dean.

"I want to know when we're having the sex talk."

"Well, since I'd very much like to have an extended and thorough discussion followed immediately by some inspired sex, I'd say we should have it when we can set aside several hours."

Several _hours_. Dean  swallowed. "So not right now?"

"Not right now," and Cas' eyes narrowed as Dean picked up the hand he'd been holding and sucked Cas' middle finger into his mouth.

Cas quirked his eyebrow and then withdrew his finger, brushing it over the surface of Dean's tongue with light pressure. "You're the one who made plans tonight with my ex leaving me at loose ends so that I have to see a superhero movie without you."

Dean laughed at that, "poor baby."

Cas mock pouted and then joined Dean's laughter.

"In all seriousness Dean, while I am eager to fall deeply into bed with you and not crawl out for days, your schedule seems to be rightly tied up in your current responsibilities."

"Yeah ..."

"And I have something to talk to you about as well."

"Is everything ok, babe?"

"Yes, it's fine. ASU's School of Social Transformation is recruiting a Visiting Professor to teach their large lecture undergraduate seminars on gender. One of their faculty had to leave for family reasons mid-semester. They're going to cover his classes through the next few weeks since it's close to the end of the fall semester anyway. But they need to go through a college needs assessment process before they can recruit a new tenure track professor. In the meantime, the circumstances allow for them to host a Visiting professorship. Their chair is close to my UC Davis dissertation director who told her I'm here in Phoenix. She called me today and asked me to apply, and I wanted to talk to you about it. She also asked if I might be available in the spring to adjunct this person's courses that are already on the schedule. Again, I told her I might, but that I wanted to discuss it with my partner."

"Cas! One, that's great! and two, you never have to ask me about your career! You do whatever you want with your brilliant ass!"

"My brilliant ass?"

"Mmmhmm! It's your ass! Do what you want with it!"

"I know I don't  _have_ to ask you what I want to do with my ass, I said I wanted to discuss it with you. I like talking with you and I value your perspective."

"Wait are we still talking about the job? Or is this the sex talk?"

"Oh, I will bite you again, you Winchester brat!"

Dean got a little squishy at that and then he bounced around the kitchen island and threw his arms around Cas. They held each other close, Cas rubbing small circles into Dean's back and Dean most definitely not purring.

"So, what do you want to do, Cas?" Dean pulled back a scant couple of inches to look into those cool blue eyes.

"I think I miss teaching more than I expected to. And I miss the university more than I thought I even could. I didn't think I wanted that life when I graduated. But now I'm wondering if I wasn't just burnt out between writing that dissertation and grinding out publications, I just couldn't bear the thought of the bloodbath that is an academic job market."

"Wait, you're published!? As a grad student!?"

Cas laughed at the shock on Dean's face. "It's not uncommon, Dean. If you're a top tier program, you're expected to publish and present at conferences and generally position yourself as a promising young scholar so someone will hire you."

"Gods, that sounds completely terrible. No wonder you burned out."

"Oh, I feel like it was a gift. I have friends who are scholars at European institutions who had to publish their way to their doctorates across multiple ranked journals across their discipline. That is much harder."

"Well, I still think it's impressive as hell. I want to read your stuff! Lemme read your stuff!!" And Dean was acting like a kid who wanted a toy and it was completely adorable. "Oh! Better yet! I want to play sexy grad student TA takes advantage of besotted undergrad. I had soooo many TAs I had crushes on. This is my chance to live out that fantasy! Let's do that!"

"Dean ..." Cas warned as Dean mused aloud about tweed jackets and reading glasses. "Ooh! We could get you a battered briefcase!"

"Dean!" And they were both laughing again. Gods, Dean made him laugh. 

"OK, ok, no battered briefcase, but definitely we're doing the glasses. Mmmmm."

"You're utterly incorrigible."

"You love it!"

"You know I do."

 

 *** 

 

Meg pulled up in a white Nissan 370Z. He got in the passenger side eying her skin tight black bandage dress, "very practical," he told her.

"It's a lease," she snarked back.

"Seriously, you look gorgeous. And thanks for getting me this invite."

She spared him a glance and whistled low. "Love that suit."

"Thanks, my sister-in-law chose it."

"Mmmm. The delicious Jessica. Am I ever going to get to meet her?"

"We're inviting her to the Halloween party."

"Oh goody!" Meg giggled gleefully and Dean felt the smile spread over his face. 

"Hey, where are you hiding your gun in that dress?"

"I'm not carrying one. Are you?"

"Nope. You're my backup."

"That I am, Gorgeous."

"So, how's this work?"

"Oh, well, you're sort of my date tonight. Roman's wife is back in Florida with the kids, so I usually just hang out near him and help him make small talk. He'd probably like it if you did the same. He'll introduce you to some of the guests and they'll probably fawn over you because you're such a sexy and heroic fucker."

Dean laughed. "Do I get a nametag with that job title?"

"Don't tempt Roman. So, Adam will be there as sort of a personal assistant to Roman. He'll get him drinks and fetch and carry for whatever Roman wants. I told Roman to tempt you with all the pretty young boys and girls on the staff, which he thought was very amusing. So, be sure you pay a little bit of attention to everyone, they're all in black like me - black dresses for the girls and black shirts, coats and ties for the boys."

"Sounds easy enough. You're sure Roman doesn't know that I know Adam."

"He has no idea. Although basically everyone on the staff now knows I'm on the hot detective's speed dial."

 "I'm sorry that doesn't seem very good for your professional reputation."

"Eh. They're all terrified of me. And my boss, Crowley, is totally in the loop. He's going to reach out to your deputy chief, by the way. Professional courtesy kind of thing."

"That sounds like a good idea."

 

***

Meg left the car with the valet and she and Dean strolled into the lobby at Grady Gammage Memorial Auditorium. This building, with its distinct Frank Lloyd Wright architecture and its soothing desert color scheme always took Dean's breath away. He and Sam and Jess had seen Wicked here, plus Rent, The Book of Mormon, the Lion King, Ragtime, Fiddler on the Roof, Dean could think of at least a dozen. Even when they no longer had student tickets, they splurged on one or maybe two shows a year. Sam had even dragged him to a Pentatonix performance here a couple of years ago (You're queer, Dean! They're practically your official band! They're not a band, Sammy. They're singers! Oh my god, Dean!) and he was reminded again of the extraordinary acoustics when those ridiculously talented singers cut loose. 

Tonight the place was crowded with young arty types, wealthy benefactors, musicians, and the like all drinking and talking and admiring each other.

Roman was pleased to see them, and he was as charming and slightly needy as he had been the night before. He introduced Dean to a number of people as "Detective Dean Winchester," and most people knew who he was or were quickly reminded by someone nearby with, "the detective on the family murder case," which wasn't exactly true, but being a fact checker wasn't his job here. He shook hands, made small talk, and flirted with everyone. He paid special attention to all the pretty young boys and girls in an array of attractive black outfits. Although Meg was by far the sexiest and most dangerous. Fuck, she was beautiful. And she kept giving him those, "I've sucked your cock," smiles that were getting to him. And he'd only had the one beer.

After about an hour of small talk and flirting, Adam brought a young woman up to Roman and stutter-stepped as he saw Dean and recognized him. Dean made eye contact with Adam, gave him a wink, and then leaned into Roman, "a lot of pretty here tonight, Dick."

Roman laughed and introduced Dean to his personal admin, Chelsea and his personal assistant, Adam. Dean shook hands with both of them and turned on the full 100 watt Winchester smile. Chelsea was completely starstruck making Adam's slight hesitation and confusion seem barely noticeable and also pretty normal, all things considered. Chelsea actually stumbled over her stilettos, and Dean swept in to catch her arm and steady her. "Whoopsy! Careful there, Miss Chelsea."

She got caught up in the shimmering green eyes and tittered. Chelsea actually fucking tittered. Meg snorted and turned on her heel to find another glass of vodka tonic. 

"I'm Chelsea," she stammered smoothing her black pencil skirt and tossing her long brunette hair over her shoulder.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Dean."

"Like James Dean?" she giggled. Seriously, Dean thought. This young woman was PA to a powerful land developer, she probably had a master's degree in organizational management or something. And she behaving like a besotted child. Actually, what the fuck was his problem? A month ago, a smart, beautiful, successful girl like this would have been his thing. He'd have had her off in a corner somewhere already. 

"Better than being like Jimmy Dean, ma'am." And Chelsea giggled again. At a completely terrible and not funny joke. Adam rolled his eyes, "Hi, Dean, I'm Adam," and held out his hand. Dean shook it and held it a hair too long, locking his eyes with Adam's and giving him the eyelash bat, "I'm Dean Winchester."

"Nice to meet you Detective Winchester," Adam put the emphasis on detective.

"It's just Dean, please. I'm totally off the clock here."

"Well, then it's nice to meet you, Dean." They stared at each other for a moment, and Chelsea's face fell. Roman, flexing his cruel streak, sent Chelsea over to the bar to get another beer for Dean.

"So, what's a personal assistant for a powerful developer do?" Dean asked loudly enough for Roman to hear but angling forward into Adam's personal space, his hand on Adam's forearm. 

He was older than Dean remembered, which was obvious, really. And healthier looking than some of the file photos. He was just an inch shorter than Dean, now. All lean muscle and tanned skin. Sun-bleached blond hair, sharp cheekbones. [Kid looked good](http://supportsupernatural.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Jake-Abel.jpg) in tailored black pants, a black and white check dress shirt, a black tie and black waist coat. Really good, if a little thin. They were making a lot of meaningful eye-contact was the thought that surfaced as Dean's analytical brain fought valiantly to prevent the big brother part of him from grabbing Adam hard and dragging him out the front door. 

Roman seemed to take the eye-contact in stride, "Winchester, I'm going to go talk to the ladies of the organizing committee, enjoy yourself! I'm sure we'll meet up later."

Dean flicked his eyes from Adam to Roman and gave him a calculating smile. Roman laughed. Gods that man was too easy -- narcissists always think everyone thinks the same way they do. Or they're paranoid as fuck. One of those. 

Dean hooked his elbow through Adam's and pulled him along to the framed historical blueprints and photographs that lined the walls on this side of the lobby and up the sweeping stairs.

They stopped at the first one and studied it a few moments in silence. It was one of those architectural renderings in colored pencil. It looked old. The plaque said it was an FLW original.

Dean led him to the next one, a photograph of the site excavation in black and white. They looked at it for a few moments and then Dean bumped Adam's shoulder and smiled at him. Adam's pale, blue-grey eyes grew a little cloudy.  

"Dean." Adam said, a little quiet and a little broken, and just that one word sliced through Dean's guts. For a moment he thought he was going to bleed out right there on the grand staircase.

He took one of those deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth, but nope, his throat was going to close up anyway. Nope.

Instead of strolling along all casual-like gazing at arty shit, since emotionally, he wasn't going to be able to pull it off anyway, Dean slipped his arm around the kid's waist and pulled him into his side, "hey, kiddo. Been awhile," he whispered into Adam's hair.

Adam shuddered a little and Dean squeezed him close -- a free hug for a lost kid. And then the trained professional kicked in. He had a job, and he had to protect his brother and that was all he had to do right now. He'd come undone in Cas' shower later. Or maybe on Cas himself. In the shower. Yeah, later. He cleared his throat and found his voice.

"You've been trying to get Bobby's attention, kid?"

"Well, I damned sure wasn't trying to get yours." Adam snapped petulantly. Gods were all little brothers completely alike? Did they take a course? Read a book? 

"Be pissed at me later. We need to talk, Adam."

"Yeah, but this isn't exactly the place, is it?" Adam said with a hint of wry humor gesturing at the crowd of cocktail-drinking pretty people.

Dean laughed and looked around. They were hardly the only same sex couple, but they were pretty, and the pretty was drawing a few curious stares and more than a few lustful ones. "No, it really isn't, but I'm gonna get you out of here, take you somewhere we can talk alone."

"I'm Roman's bodyman tonight. I can't leave."

"Umhmm. I don't think we're going to worry about that. Roman's gonna let you leave with me, because then I'll owe him." Dean looked around and saw Roman watching him. Perfect.

"You're going to owe him?" Adam was puzzled.

Dean grabbed his shoulders, turned him, and backed him up against the wall, forehead to forehead, hands against the wall on either side of Adam's face. "Yeah, he's gonna think you're my sexy, young hookup."

Adam swallowed. "Um."

"Relax, kid. You're still my baby brother."

Adam chuckled uncomfortably while Dean looked into his eyes, cool and focused.

"OK, here's what we're going to do. You're going to stand here staring into my eyes like you've never seen anyone this fucking beautiful in your entire goddamned life. And I'm going to take one hand off you to call an Uber. When it pings, and it will in seconds because this is a big venue and they're out there circling like sharks, I'm going to kiss you, then I'm going to laugh dirty. You laugh too. Then I'm going to grab your hand and haul you out of here like the condoms are burning a hole in my pocket. And you're going to let me. You're going to smile like you love it. We'll get into the car, and you will lean against me saying nothing, and I mean nothing, until I get you safely behind a couple of locked doors. And then you're going to tell me all about this asshole you're working for."

"Dean ..."

Dean took his phone out of his pocked and thumbed open the car app. He sent his request, and sure enough, it pinged right away. They were looking for Cameron in a black Camry. That was funny.

"Look into my eyes, Adam." And Adam glared at him. Good. Defiance was good. Defiance was better than scared or sad or stupid or really almost anything that started with an 's.'

Dean returned his hand to the wall on either side of Adam's face, leaned into his space, and kissed Adam deep and slow. The kid melted into it, soft and warm. He felt great, and really, Dean had done way more fucked up things than laying a smutty kiss on a kid who was the foster son of his father figure. Way more. Yeah.

Dean pulled back a few inches and looked into Adam's eyes that were suddenly lit with both defiance and curiosity. Gods, he was going to need a lot of drinks after this. "Now, laugh, kid."

And Dean gave Adam his best "that was a seriously dirty joke," laugh, caught his hand and began hauling him toward the door, Adam's laughter ringing behind him.

Roman headed over toward them, but Dean just nodded his head in Roman's direction and gave him a saucy wink which made Roman raise his glass to them. And then they were out the door and Dean was pushing Adam into a black Camry. He wrapped his arm across the back of Adam's seat and pulled the kid into his side. Then he stared out the window as the driver sped into the night. Halfway there. 

His phone pinged, and he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at it. A text from Meg. "Saw you leave. I got this."

He told Siri to text Meg "thanks," and then slipped the phone back into his pocket for the rest of the 15 minute ride back to Cas'.

He'd debated for quite a while earlier this evening before deciding to bring Adam back to Cas' place. But in the end, it seemed like the best choice. 

Dean's house wasn't really secure -- he hadn't lived there much in weeks, and who knows who could have been in and out of there while he was absent. He couldn't take Adam back to the station, not until he'd convinced Adam. Cas' place though had security on the lobby and an elevator that wouldn't even go up to Cas' floor if the security guard didn't call the elevator for you. If you could get up to Cas' floor, you still needed to get past the locked steel-reinforced door. And he and Cas, after talking it over, had changed the combination on the door this afternoon. Plus there were cameras. Dean had been worried Cas would mind, but Cas thought it was the best of their limited options. Plus, Cas had pointed out, worst case scenario, someone saw Dean bring the younger man up to his place, well that wasn't exactly something that had never happened at Cas' place.

"Dean..." Adam began, but Dean reached out and squeezed his hand, "we're almost there, baby," Dean told him eyes flicking to the driver. Adam nodded and kissed Dean's hand and then held it on his leg. They rode in silence until the driver pulled up at the Luhrs building. Adam's face was puzzled, but Dean just thanked the driver, opened the passenger door and pulled Adam after him into the lobby. Matt was on again tonight, "Mr Winchester," he said in greeting. "Hey, Matt. Have a great evening," Dean told him as he pulled Adam into the elevator after him.

"Dean, where are we?"

"My place."

"You live here?"

"Yeah. I live here with my boyfriend, but he's not home right now."

"Where is he?" Adam asked quizzically. Like on the list of all the possible things Adam should be considering right now, Cas' location was the thing to settle on.

"Out. Come on." They got out on the 14th floor and Dean let the into the loft. Adam looked around, "whoah. Who's your boyfriend? Some kind of old rich guy?"

Dean let the door close behind them and pulled Adam into the kitchen. "No, asshole," seriously, little brothers! "he owns a coffee shop. It's a long story. Want a beer?"

Adam nodded and Dean opened the fridge and pulled out two cans of Pitchfork ale, passing one to Adam who took it and settled into the bar stool Dean gestured to.

Dean sat next to him and drank his beer in silence for a couple of minutes.

"OK, kid, you wanted Bobby's attention, and you got it, and then he gave it to me. So now you've got me."

Adam frowned a little, "I want to talk to Bobby."

"You can't, man. He was your legal guardian for four years."

"Yeah... How's Ellen?"

"She's good. She misses you."

"Yeah."

"She's going to want to see you once we get this worked out."

"What's to work out, Dean? I'm a bad guy. I do bad things. No way do I want to stand in front of Ellen now."

Dean rolled his beer in his hand, "you want something stronger?"

"Oh, god, please."

"Don't wander off," Dean told him as he left him in the kitchen and went for the bourbon in the living room bar. When he brought it back, Adam was exactly where he'd left him, although he'd taken his tie off and opened his collar up some. Dean thought that was a good idea and took his suit jacket off and laid it across the back of the couch and rolled up his sleeves. He poured two glasses of bourbon and they both sipped in silence another couple of minutes.

"So, like, I know there's a long story in here. And believe me I want to hear it."

Adam snorted.

"No, man, I do. I want to hear it all, but right now, I need to tell you why you're here. And then we're going to go through a few points while you ask questions. And then I'm going to settle you in here for the night. And you won't leave until after we talk again in the morning, OK?"

"You going to stop me from leaving?"

Goddammit, little. brothers. "No, I'm not going to stop you. I'm going to persuade you to stay."

Adam sighed. "OK, let's do this."

Dean knocked back the rest of his bourbon and set the glass on the counter. "OK, so you're part of a criminal conspiracy. Through the tape you left for Bobby, we can tie you to one crime scene. Through the links you've created from one crime scene to another, we can tie you circumstantially to a series of crime scenes. Due to the inflammatory messages spray painted on those walls, plus the vandalism, that criminal conspiracy is being investigated as a probable hate crime, which makes your criminal conspiracy also a human rights issue. It's a mess. You with me so far?"

"Yeah ..."

"We suspect, because we have some financial motives, that Roman is behind this conspiracy. We also suspect his ties to other crimes in the area. Still with me?"

"Yeah ..."

"I'm running an investigation, and you're my primary suspect, but, even better, you could be my key witness."

"What?"

"With the way you've deliberately tied the crimes to each other and left evidence to signal Bobby, we can easily argue that you've been trying to help us."

"I'm not trying to help. I wanted Bobby to catch me."

"Same difference."

Adam looked at Dean like he'd grown two heads or something. "Hardly."

"I've already talked to the head of investigations and a senior prosecutor who would spearhead the prosecution. There's a real willingness to offer you a deal if you testify against Roman and help the department end his dealings here in our city."

"Oh."

"Just 'oh,' kid?"

"Yeah. I'm out of here." And Adam pushed his barstool back and stood up.

"Sit your ass back down, Adam," Dean said in his "I raised you, kid" voice he could only recall using on Adam once when he caught him with spray paint in his backpack.

Adam's jaw clicked shut. He glared at Dean who glared right back at him. They stared unmoving for several moments.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I mean why the fuck should I listen to you?"

"Because I'm trying to help you."

"But why would you do that?"

"Because you're my family, kid. Because you're in trouble, and you need help, and I help people. Because Roman is a bad guy and he's bad for my city. Because it's Friday night and my boyfriend isn't home so I've got nothing better to do just now. Fucking pick one, they're all good reasons."

Adam stared some more and Dean didn't back down. Gods, this kid may not be related to him by blood and bone, but surely by heart and soul. He and Sam and Dean, they never retreated, they never needed anything, they never asked for anything, and they sure as hell never backed down.

"No one helps anyone."

"I do."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, Jesus helped people too, but he's not here right now, so you've just got me kid. And for what it's worth, I don't suck at it."

Adam snorted again, pulled the barstool back out and sat back down. "Pour me another."

Yep, kid was totally a Winchester. Dean poured them both drinks, "so, should I go on?"

"I guess you'd better."

"OK, so I'd like you to agree to be my witness. If you agree, you'll stay here tonight. I can keep you safe here. Even if Roman thinks you're here, he's only going to think you're fucking me and Cas, so ..."

Adam interrupted, "who the hell is Cas?"

"My boyfriend, pay attention."

"Gross! Why the hell would I be fucking you and your boyfriend?"

Sweet mother moon have mercy. "Look, just, you're fine here. Roman won't think you're doing anything that could hurt him here. Tomorrow morning, I'll call the deputy chief and the prosecutor who are the only other people who know about you. They'll come here, and we'll all talk. And then you can make some decisions."

"Should I get a lawyer?"

"Do you want a lawyer?"

"Is Meg a lawyer?"

"Why do you want Meg?"

Adam shrugged. "She's military, like me."

"She's not a lawyer, but I can probably have her here if you want."

"How long will I be in jail for?"

"I don't know. This is just property crime. The hate crime thing is bullshit, right?"

"What?! Of course it is! Roman wanted us to rile up the community and tank the property values and make people want to leave, and I told him we could handle it. The anti-gay stuff was just what I picked because it was supposed to get under Bobby's skin."

Now Dean was the one looking at Adam like he had two heads, "why would that get to Bobby?"

"Because of you, asshole."

"Oh."

Adam mimicked Dean's voice with, "just, 'oh'?" 

And then Dean laughed and messed up Adam's hair, "shut up."

And then Dean thought a minute, "the immigration stuff? The broken military pictures?"

Adam stared into his drink. And Dean gave him time. Detecting 101, you leave silence and people will fill it. 

"I picked the immigration stuff was because Bobby has pics of him and your dad at a pro-immigrant rally back in the day. They got into trouble too because they were in uniform. I figured it would piss him off as much now as it had back then."

Dean had never heard that story. He was going to have to ask Bobby to see those pictures.

"And the military stuff?"

"Eh." Adam shrugged.

"You're not going to tell me?"

"Not tonight, Dean."

Dean gestured to the bourbon and Adam nodded. Dean poured them both a little more as Cas walked into the apt.

"We're in here," Dean called. And he put a steadying hand on Adam's arm.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said as he came up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around Dean's chest. "Cas, this is my brother, Adam." "Adam, this is my boyfriend, Castiel."

Adam held his hand out, "nice to meet you, Castiel."

"Call me Cas, please."

"OK, Cas."

"Good. I see you two are drinking. Have you had anything to eat?"

Adam and Dean both ducked their heads sheepishly. 

Cas just shook his head, "suddenly, I can see the family resemblance. We still have some chicken salad, let me get it out for you."

And Dean and Adam sat obediently while Cas made them sandwiches and watched them eat. 

"Cas, is there a linen closet around here so I can make up the couch for Adam?"

"Sure, but why not put him in the guest room?"

"Wait, we have a guest room?" Dean's eyebrows shot up. Cas laughed and Adam looked bewildered.

"Dude, I thought you said you lived here?!"

"I do live here. I just spend most of my time in the kitchen, the shower or the bed!" 

"Dude, that sounds like there's only one shower and bed to me."

Cas interrupted their bickering, "we have two guest suites, with their own bathrooms. We just don't use that part of this loft much."

"Or at all," Dean snarked. Cas scowled at him, "behave," but the crinkles around his eyes took the sting out of it.

Dean schooled his face as if he'd actually been chastened and turned to Adam, "apparently we have guest   _suites_ , and you can sleep in one of them."

Cas cleared his throat, "ahem."

Dean blinked at him, "what did I get wrong?"

Cas turned to Adam and smiled warmly, "Adam, we have plenty of space, we're happy you're here, and you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like."

Adam looked from Cas to Dean and back with a huge smirk on his face.

"What?" Dean asked him.

"Nothing. Just... you guys are really cute together."

"Thanks, bro."

And then Adam turned to Cas sweetly and said, "your boyfriend kissed me tonight."

"Did he?" Cas asked, expression serious, left eyebrow raised.

"Oh, yes he did. It was very dirty," Adam continued and Dean choked on a sip of bourbon.

"Well," Cas said taking Adam's arm, "let me show you to your room and you can tell me all about my naughty boyfriend." 

Dean smiled at them, warm and tingly that they were already getting along so well. This could work.

"Adam?" Dean called after him.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't leave in the night?" Dean asked, voice light and easy as he could muster.

Adam turned back to Dean, "I'm done running, Dean."

And then Cas leaned against Adam and whispered something in his ear, something that caused a small smile to spread over Adam's face as he looked at his feet. Then he met Cas' gaze and allowed Cas to pull him through a door that Dean had been sure until two seconds before that it was a closet. Turned out it was a hallway to the rest of the loft. Who knew?

Dean grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and headed toward their shower, which he now knew was basically the master bedroom shower. Huh. It was late, and he was tense and exhausted. But also he could feel the tight knot of worry that had been there since that first morning at Sally's loosen just a bit. This was going to work out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxoxox *waves*


	30. We Like a Dark Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't come to this chapter expecting plot.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for you and me and all the other ride or die chicks

Dean took a long, hot shower and dried himself in fluffy towels. He brushed his teeth and then wandered into the closet and fished around in Cas' cologne collection for the smoky leathery one Cas and Meg wore. He hadn't asked about that yet, but hey. When in fucking Rome....  He sprayed on a little and then turned to head toward bed. And then paused. What was the protocol for guests in the house while you live in the open-floorplan part of the loft and your guest is down a Harry Potter hallway ensconced in a previously unknown guest suite? Could you still sleep naked? At least while on hiatus with Meg, no one had to work out the protocol for Shared-Bed Days-That-Begin-With-The-Letter-S while there was a long-lost-pain-in-the-ass-little-brother ensconced in one of the guest suites.

Fuck it. Dean decided if Adam was scandalized by him, he'd just remind him that the kid had been the one to melt and swoon when Dean kissed him. Everyone has problems.

He padded off to bed, still no Cas. That was probably a good thing. Dean checked his phone again before he put it on the charger. A smoochie face from Meg. Nothing else. He stretched and spoke at a normal volume, "Solo, where you at?"

His muscled beastie came sprinting to his feet from wherever she'd been prowling. She rubbed her face against his knee and he leaned over and scratched the top of her head. "Bed?" He asked her. And she trilled in affirmation and hopped into the bed. He flipped the switch on the table lamp and crawled in between the sheets, shifting his cat over. She hummed happily and turned in circles next to him as he got comfy against the pillows, book in hand. He and Solo yawned together and settled into their nighttime reading-cuddling ritual.

Some number of pages passed.

Dean looked up from his place in his paperback copy of Sarah Maas'  _Queen of Shadows_  to watch Cas walk from their closet with a handful of tees and shorts and whatnot, "Adam doesn't have any clothes, and he and I are almost exactly the same size, so I'm just going to take him some of mine. Back in a moment."

And then Dean was watching that languid stride as Cas walked back in the direction he'd come. He lowered his eyes to the page and returned to Celaena's court intrigue. That woman sure did have her troubles. Stabby, stabby troubles. 

At some point, Dean dozed off. He woke to Cas gently removing the book from his chest. "Mmmm, Cas."

"Shhhh, Dean. You're tired."

"Nah. Just relaxin' with mah cat," Dean drawled sleepy and slow.

"Yes, Dean. Solo is  _your_  cat." Dean opened his eyes in a squint to see Cas turning his table lamp off, Solo draped over his shoulders. "Dude," Dean said. Cas chuckled and scritched Solo's chin. "She's a sweetie." Solo purred and looked down at Dean from her perch on Cas' shoulders. So cute.

Cas put Solo down on the floor and crawled on top of Dean, then rolled onto his back, pulling Dean into his arms. "Hi, baby," Cas whispered tugging Dean in close.

"Mmphgf ... too many layers between us," grumped Dean trying to snuggle into Cas' chest and feeling a bit like a burrito wrapped up in these sheets.

"You're fine, Dean" Cas whispered with a kiss into Dean's hair.

"N'mnot..." Dean growled tugging at the sheets, "this sucks." Dean keep tugging, because, you know, if the thing you're doing right now isn't working, you should redouble your efforts and keep tugging on the same edge of the sheet, even if its beneath you, and even if you and your 74 inches of lean muscle weigh about 200 pounds, all that is totally going to work. Yep. Keep doing that. You do you.

Cas began chuckling, "Dean... that's not ... Dean..." But Dean kept burrowing and tugging, "C'mon Cas..."

Cas couldn't help it, grumpy!Dean was so cute. The low chuckles merged into giggles, and then full on laughter as Dean became more and more frustrated. And then, Dean had it and launched himself at Cas while yanking at the same time, and somehow they both went rolling out of the low bed, hitting the floor and rolling again, then coming to rest in a tangle of limbs and sheets, Dean with Cas pinned beneath him. At least their bare chests were pressed together, "aces!" Dean exclaimed and began nuzzling his way into the space between Cas' shoulder and jaw.

Cas was still laughing because now Dean's stubble was tickling him and he spluttered out the bedhead hairs sticking to his lips. "Mphth! Dean!" All the giggles. Cas was shaking with them as Dean tried valiantly to get his lips to warm, sweet skin. 

Irritated beyond reason, because fuck this, Dean pressed down on his left fist along the left side of Cas' head and pushed up with his toes, lifting his body from Cas' and yanking hard on the offending sheets with his right hand. Then he settled back down, aligned from knee to shoulder, skin to skin, against Cas' naked body. "Yes!" Dean growled and Cas' laughter ended abruptly at the hot slide of their cocks together. Dean already solid and heavy against Cas. Who moaned low, "did you just do a one-handed plank over me while kissing my neck?"

Dean grinned rakish into Cas' throat and then bit down, sucking firmly as Cas moaned again and rolled his head back wrapping one hand into Dean's hair and holding him in place as he bit and sucked, "fuck!." He may not have the full skinny on the heavy biting thing yet, but Dean could give a hickey like nobody's business. "You're not the only one with core strength to spare, sexy-cat." And Dean ground their hips together again and Cas gasped as the rough friction sent sparks up his spine. "Show me then," Cas growled thrusting up in response. Dean slid his tongue along Cas' neck and then bit down next to the first hickey and sucked hard again.

Cas pulled Dean's hair hard and twisted his fingers tugging Dean's face up and swiping his tongue flat and wet across Dean's mouth. Dean pulled his head further back a couple of inches even as Cas held fast. He looked into Cas' eyes and Cas shivered at what he saw there. Liquid emeralds glittering wolfish and feral. Eyes locked, Dean pulled back just a fraction farther and curled his lip at the pain, holding himself there. 

They stared at each other, molten green of earth meeting freezing depths of ocean blue. Empires fell and suns burned cold. Dean's eyes narrowed.

With a snarl, Dean was moving again. Throwing his weight over Cas' chest, Dean stretched out with his left arm, rooting beneath the bed for the bottle he'd spotted in his peripheral vision. Snatching it up, he tossed it against Cas' left side, then, before Cas could move, shifted his weight back, chest to chest, as he sealed his mouth over Cas, forcing his tongue in deep, sweeping it over Cas' palate and then tangling with Cas' as Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's ribs and held on.

Dean broke the kiss, pulling himself up into a seated position, straddling Cas' hips, eyes devouring the lithe, tanned body beneath him, fine sheen of sweat, chest heaving. Cas shivered again beneath that predatory gleam. Lunging forward, Dean caught Cas' thighs with his hands and wrapped them around his waist as he dove back into Cas' mouth catching Cas' upper lip between teeth. He tasted salt and iron and brought his hands up to wind in Cas' hair licking and sucking at Cas' mouth, blood and saliva smearing across his chin.

Reaching blindly out with his left arm again, he snatched a pillow off the bed, dislodging Solo who chittered her displeasure and stalked off to parts unknown. Dean gently slid his hand beneath Cas' neck, and carefully slid the pillow beneath his head, then with a low growl returned to tongue fucking his mouth. Another blind grasp, and one of the bolsters fell from the bed and bounced off the back of Dean's head landing near Cas' left shoulder. Dean ignored it in his single-minded focus on crawling inside of Cas' hot, wet mouth.

Cas raised his hands to Dean's shoulders and gently pushed, but Dean wasn't having it. Cas could find some other way to breathe. Fucking invent something. Dean caught his hands and moved to pin them to either side of Cas' head. Cas struggled, grinding his hips and tightening his legs around Dean's waist, but Dean threw his weight forward, slamming Cas' wrists to the floor hard enough to leave bruises. With a lurid wet pop, Dean broke the kiss and pulled back far enough to study Cas' face.

Cas looked up at the dark and hungry man above him, eyes glittering with want, lips plush and wet and bruised, "do we need to talk about this?" he asked.

Dean cocked his head to one side, expression considering, and the contrast between that gorgeous face with its delicate bone structure, fluttering lashes and gilding of freckles, against the lust laid bare in those ravenous eyes woke something wild and low in Cas' chest, "not unless you're going to say no" Dean whispered.

That lissome heat slowly uncurled and slithered inside and Cas felt his own expression turn feral, "my safe word is 'soliloquy.'"

Dean nodded once, "I don't have one. ... yet."

Cas cocked his eyebrow, "we really should...."

Dean surged forward again and tightened his left hand around Cas' throat, licking into Cas' ear and then biting the tender lobe. He whispered, "I'll just use 'red' for now, and I promise we'll talk tomorrow." And then he released Cas' throat and placed twin light slaps on Cas' thighs, who tightened them around Dean's waist in automatic response. Dean smirked against Cas' collarbone while he grabbed the bolster and bent his knees, sliding it into place flush against Cas' ass. 

He bit and sucked his way along Cas' collarbone and across his shoulder to one dark areole that he pulled into his mouth. Cas groaned and bucked his hips and Dean ground back against him, pulling on the tender peaked nipple losing himself in the lurid, needy sounds he was drawing from Cas. He softened the pressure and then flicked his tongue again and again across the surface of the nub, earning himself a gasp with each stroke.

He butterfly kissed his way across Cas' chest, noting for the first time that Cas had light sun freckling here, and well-groomed, soft, dark hair, and a couple of intriguing little scars. He kissed and licked them all in a random path to the other nipple where he resumed his close attention, sucking and biting drawing filthy whimpers and hisses from Cas. So many gorgeous variations of these sounds to uncover. 

Something flickered in his thoughts. Something about getting more of those dirty needy pleas. He slid down Cas' body to his concave stomach. Mmm. Gripping Cas' hips tightly with both hands, Dean flicked his tongue into Cas' navel, drawing a desperate giggle and squirm from Cas. Mmhmm. He nipped sharp tugging bites into the tender flesh of Cas' flat, tight belly, Cas squirming and laughing and moaning and shamelessly canting his hips to press his cock against Dean's throat. Heh. Dean flattened his tongue and laid down several thick swipes of tongue over Cas' belly and smirked again at the squirms and the gasps. Then Dean slid his tongue over to one delicious hip bone and clamped his teeth over it sucking and biting and grinding down hard.

Cas cried out in surprise and need, bucking desperately, but Dean held him hard and fast, sucking and pulling the sensitive skin over that razor sharp bone. Putting into it everything he could remember from when Cas had held him down while brutalizing his neck. Give in and breathe, that's what Cas taught him. And so he did. He gave in to the growling, stalking, claiming thing inside him. He let it off the leash and it leapt, pinning Cas beneath him, jaw aching with the tension of bone on bone and the searing, intense suction. 

That slithering, wild desire welled up inside Cas and he threw his head back and shouted a litany of curses and praise as the exquisitely sharp and raw pain sliced through him. Involuntarily, his torso twisted and he almost threw Dean off, but it was just a feint. Dean used the momentary disruption of contact with the floor to push the bolster beneath Cas' hips and then caught him again and forced him back down, resuming the sucking pressure and sharp drag of teeth with intense purpose. Cas panted and gasped and cursed, and the naked want rolled over Dean.

He returned his sucking biting kisses to Cas' belly, giving Cas a moment to catch his breath. Cas threw his arms above his head in an indecent sprawl, giving himself over to his predator-lover gnawing at his most vulnerable spaces. Giving himself over with shameless abandon.

Sucking another small and perfect mark into Cas' belly, and then another. Tiny, sweet kisses. Sharp love bites. A soft brush of lips, a languid brush of tongue. The rise and fall of Cas breathing beneath him. He would remember this later, he thought. This opulent and absolute surrender. 

Hands still tightly on Cas' hips where there would surely be a gorgeous array of bruises in the morning, Dean shifted between Cas' legs and sucked the head of Cas' cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue and tasting and scenting the bitter and the salt. Whatever remained of his reason left him as his hindbrain responded to the eternal drug of power, desire, and raw pheromones. With the scant warning of two quick taps against the whorled muscle, Dean's slick finger breached Cas who threw his head back with a wanton moan. He spread his legs wider and pressed his hips up sliding the bolster into a more advantageous position. If he could think, Dean would be marveling at the beauty and vulnerability before him as Cas gave himself and his pleasure over to Dean entirely. He would look on Cas' ability to lose himself so completely to the ministrations of his lover with deep admiration and a touch of envy. But then, Dean couldn't do that. Because Dean was already long lost to the intoxicating eroticism of it all. All of it. The heat, the taste, the feel of warm skin and the living want just beneath it, the sounds, the intense focus of his universe into this one, single need.

It's one of those things, right? Technically we all come of age kind of inadequate in bed. And through a series of mortifying failures or laughter-filled collaborative experiments, we figure some stuff out. Like, some stuff is just obvious, way more obvious that the blundering of his fellow humans would suggest, like he told Meg. Clitorises aren't confusing. And anyone who thinks so is a selfish bastard, an asshole with massive issues or hangups, or just lazy. Don't fuck those guys. Seriously. And there's some stuff that is a given with just about everyone - like, body issues. Most people have those. Most people are insecure about something or another about themselves. Cut them some slack, already. And some stuff is always going to be a little complicated, like emotions. There's not much preparing for those, and your only strategy there is to respect your partner(s) and muddle through. But, like, here's a thing Dean's always known: attentiveness will get you a long way. And maybe Dean's never fucked another man or been fucked by one, but he's had in a finger or two in a number of men and women and, obviously, himself. And he's almost always earned himself requests for repeat performances because Dean Winchester fucking pays attention to what works for you, what you ask for, what you respond to, what you don't.

And Cas coming undone here beneath him is a whole universe of responsiveness.

Dean had two fingers buried in Cas and was sucking Cas' balls into his mouth when Cas suddenly planted a foot on Dean's shoulder and pushed hard. Dean, caught by surprise, was thrown off balance, releasing Cas from his mouth, dislodging his fingers and shifting his weight to one knee. The added space between their bodies gave Cas an opening to pull the foot back and shove it hard against Dean's chest. Dean fell over Cas' thigh and landed with an oof on his right side. Cas rolled to his hands and knees just as Dean pressed up to rise on one elbow. Dean froze at cat-cas. And the utterly wicked need on his face.

Dean crabbed backwards as Cas half crawled, half leapt on top of Dean who rolled pulling Cas over him and off to his side. He regrouped and pushed up to grab Cas, but Cas was faster, catching Dean in the chest with a shoulder and driving him to the floor, briefly knocking the wind from Dean.

And then Cas was straddling his hips, reaching back to line Dean up and dropping his weight down to take Dean inside. They both swore loudly, and Dean felt his eyes roll back as sparkling pleasure shot through his fraying nerves. This wasn't one of those passionate meetings of bodies and hearts where skilled partners raise each other higher and higher in mutual satisfaction. Or even one of those straight fucking session where clothes are ripped off, and then everyone focuses on the immediate, and everyone gets off, and then everyone is impressed with their mutual lust and their desirability. Although, those are both fun.

No, this was what happens when you strip two people down to their elemental selves and place them together in a space devoid of concerns, consequences, or reasonable limits. 

Cas had both fists in a bruising brace against Dean's chest, while Dean's hands were clenched tightly on Cas' hips. As Cas drove down, Dean pulled and thrust up, and the impact between them was made with ruthless force -- the pain, pleasure, friction and heat blurring together into one overwhelming spiral that was coiling low in Dean's groin and shimmering brighter and brighter as Cas drove them both over the edge. Dean came shouting, and then, for only the second time in his life, he threw himself into the crashing waves and let them drown him.

Dean came back to himself slowly, not all at once, just floating and warm, the leathery musky scent of Cas in his nose, scrape of stubble against the space between his neck and shoulder, over-sensitized skin humming at the soft, slow breaths falling against his throat. Gravity was so very heavy, and Dean had no desire to resist it, except to raise his arms the necessary distance to wrap then around the man sprawled over his chest. 

Cas snuggled into the embrace and Dean let his hazy thoughts flit and bob while he and Cas drifted together. 

After some unknown time had spun out in front of them, the rest of Dean's body made a feeble effort to check in, causing chuckles to bubble up from his chest. Cas lifted his head and looked muzzily at Dean, who was struck with an intense and compelling wave of affection. He raised his hand to cup Cas' cheek and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

"What's funny?" Cas mumbled.

"Pretty sure there's some kind of friction burn on my ass from the area rug and the wood floor."

Cas chortled and then hissed, "ow. Fuck. That's going to leave a mark."

"What is it, baby?"

Cas shifted his weight and prodded his side gingerly and hissed again, "bruised rib, I think."

"Oh no! When did that happen!?" Dean sat up, pulling Cas up with him.

"Honestly? I think when we rolled off the bed and hit the floor."

Which. Seriously. That shit was fucking hilarious. They collapsed into each other laughing. And then, Dean rose and hauled Cas up after him. "C'mon. Let's go work some of these kinks out in the shower."

Cas quirked an eyebrow.

"Jesus Christ, Cas. I think you've broken my brain. Muscle kinks. Not, you know, kinky kinks."

"If you say so," Cas say rubbing the enormous bruise blossoming across his hip. 

They washed slowly, closely, and thoroughly, reveling in the simple pleasure of touch. And then wrapped each other in warm, cozy towels. Drying each other's hair, passing the toothpaste back and forth, never breaking skin to skin contact that was either at their hips, shoulders, or hands. 

When they were clean, minty, and dry, Cas collected their towels and hung them on the racks, then pulled Dean into a warm embrace that Dean shamelessly melted into. Not to disparage his sister-in-law, but Dean had pretty much decided that it was Cas who gave the best hugs.

"You're not upset we didn't do that differently?" Dean asked softly into Cas' hair.

"Hmm?" Cas asked, pulling back to look into Dean's face.

Dean blushed. "I'm not normally like that. Er. I've never been like that," and then he looked down and shuffled his feet. Shyly, even.

Cas smiled warmly, "I think this is a conversation we're going to have in bed, with the lights out, maybe the sheet pulled over our heads. Come on." And he tugged Dean after him, across the room and into their bed. When Cas and Dean were lying on their sides, face to face, legs tangled together, Cas kissed the tip of his nose and said, "you were amazing. The only thing I'd change would be that 'you were amazing' would have been the first thing I said to you. Instead of 'why are you laughing' or whatever it was."

"I'm kind of embarrassed, Cas."

"Why?"

"I guess because I sort of attacked you."

"Dean. Where are you getting that idea?"

"Well, because I threw you out of bed and then jumped on you."

Cas paused, just studying the face of the man he loved. "Is that really how you remember it?"

Dean didn't say anything. He just bumped his forehead against Cas' in a gesture that made Cas' insides melt. 

"Dean, you know I was right there with you. Encouraging you. Putting your mouth where I wanted it. Begging you. Grinding against you."

"Yeah ... " and a low chuckle at the memory of those erotic noises.

"And baby, you are, let me just say, skilled with those fingers of yours. That fingering performance was something else. Seriously. Standing ovation to you. But you were just going to keep that up all night, and I was done waiting. Do you remember that?"

"When you fucking kicked me? Kicked me twice!" 

"Yes, I kicked you twice. And stalked you. Tackled you. There was some grappling and another tackle. You remember that, right?"

"My rug burned ass remembers that." And they laughed together until Cas reached over and slapped that rugburn and Dean dove in to blow raspberries against Cas' neck, and they were laughing and wrestling until Dean pulled back, "babe! babe! let's not bruise any more ribs with a repeat falling out of bed performance!"

And they snuggled together until the giggles stopped and Cas took Dean's face into his hands, "so, what are you really saying then?"

Dean took a deep breath, "am I getting any better at these incredibly awkward and weird conversations, Cas? Am I?"

Cas kissed his forehead, "you're doing great, Dean. Amazing. I am so impressed."

Dean took in another breath and reminded himself he was Dean Fucking Winchester, badass detective and brother. "I know myself to be considerate, attentive, passionate, generous, respectful, and, ok, a little bit insatiable." 

Cas snorted. "By definition, I don't think you  _can_ be just a little bit insatiable. But, you know, whatever. You do you. As long as it's some flavor of insatiable, I'll take it."

"Jackass."

"Tonight you were all of those things, Dean. Except the little bit. Because, I promise you, that was a hell of a decadent flavor of insatiable," Cas whispered into Dean's lips.

Dean sighed into the soft, sweet kiss.

"We can be anything we want to be. Sometimes we're going to be toothache sweet and sometimes we're going to be reaching for each other out of need to sate our own loneliness or a dull the pain of a dark day. Sometimes I'm going to boss you around in the shower. And sometimes it's going to get rough because the things inside me need to get off the leash once in awhile. And we found out tonight that we're maybe more alike in this than we realized. But we've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Maybe we always knew it."

"Hmm?"

"The coffee shop. That first time you called me on checking you out."

"I remember. You weren't being subtle."

"I wasn't. And I'm always subtle. Unless I'm deliberately seducing someone. I'm subtle checking people out because it's respectful.  But if I want you to know I want you, I throw a switch. And I'm not subtle."

"I'm aware," Cas said turning his face and placing a soft kiss to Dean's fingertips that were absently stroking his cheek.

"But I was sitting in the coffee shop openly wanting you, and I didn't even realize I was doing it until you said you liked it."

"Mmm. I did like it. I do like it. Don't ever stop looking at me like that."

And Dean slipped the hand behind Cas' head and pulled him into a warm, gentle kiss, cautious of the bruised and slightly swollen upper lip Cas was sporting. "I can't stop. I left that day because I realized I couldn't stop if I wanted to. And I didn't want to stop. I never want to stop."

"Hmmm," Cas hummed contentedly, tugging Dean in close, "get some sleep, Dean."

"Gnight, Cas. I love you."

"And I love you."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love all y'all. it's 3:30am here. get some sleep. xxx


	31. Some Lines, Once Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another good day goes to hell
> 
> (parts of this chapter are an homage to ep. 8.17 "Goodbye Stranger" written by Robbie Thompson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for stalking. Because a lot of us have been there, and I want you to know you can skip the section with Charlie and Kevin if that stuff triggers you like it triggers me.
> 
> again, I was chintzy on the editing. I want to promise I'll do better going forward. but I probably won't. :p

Cas woke to a velvety soft, but enormous paw patting his cheek. Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. An awareness of being covered in a warm, heavy, furry weight spread over his neck and shoulder. The low, rumbly purr sent vibrations through his skin. And he had the sensation that this was pleasant, loving even. He squinted one eye open, and sure enough, Solo was sprawled over his shoulder and chest, one of her big floofy paws patting his face. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed deeply content. Cas smiled and scritched between her eyes like Dean had shown him, and he was rewarded with a stretch of paws and snuggle into his neck. She really was a sweetheart. An enormous, furry, demanding sweetheart.

He snuggled with Solo for a few minutes while his senses checked in. The smell of coffee and soft sounds of cooking and conversation from the kitchen. Sunlight streaming in through the curtains, although they were heading into the winter rainy season, and the fast-moving clouds threw shadows on the walls. Mmm coffee. Cas gave Solo one final cuddle and then resettled her in his warm spot as he slipped out of bed. She whined a little but curled up where his shoulders had been, harrumphed, and tucked her tail over her nose to go back to sleep. His left eye was mostly open now but his right eye was still pretty squinty and his head was muzzy. The kitchen had coffee.

Cas found a pair of skully pajama pants folded on the bench at the foot of the bed, which was a sweet gesture he thought. He pulled them on and padded barefoot into the kitchen to find Dean seated on a barstool sipping coffee, while Adam beat eggs in a bowl in the kitchen. Cas slipped his arms around Dean's chest and burrowed his face in Dean's hair. Dean startled briefly but got with the program wrapping his arms over Cas' and tilting his head into the hug. "Mornin', Cas" he murmured. Cas groaned, "coffee?" into Dean's hair. Adam chuckled and set down his bowl. He turned to cupboard, pulled down a fresh mug, filled it and pushed it across the countertop. Then he picked up his bowl and whisk and resumed beating his eggs. Dean tipped some cream into the mug and passed it enticingly beneath Cas' nose.

Groaning in delight, Cas let go of Dean, grabbed the mug and sipped down several gulps of coffee. He shifted to Dean's side to pull out another bar stool and noticed Adam in the kitchen, whisk in hand, frozen in place, staring at Cas' torso. Puzzled, Cas looked down and saw he was covered in bite marks in assorted shapes and sizes. Which reminded him. Yep. The back of Dean's neck was still resplendent in bruising. Lovely. He smiled into his mug. Recovering, Adam again resumed whisking and turned to the stove to adjust the flame beneath an omelette pan. "You couldn't have a laid out a shirt, Dean?" Cas grumped softly.

"Nope," Dean chirped happily and smirked up at Cas.

Cas smiled fondly at his boyfriend and settled, very carefully, into the barstool. Possession and desire sparked in Dean's eyes, and Cas winked at him.

"Holy crap, you guys are ridiculous," Adam told them tipping a little cream into his bowl and reaching for the pepper mill. 

'You're just jealous," Dean snarked.

"Damned straight," Adam shot back, "or damned gay? One of those. Whatever. I decided last night I want a girlfriend exactly like Cas. You suck, Dean."

"Literally," laughed Dean.

"That too," Adam shot back and dumped the bowl of eggs into the hot pan, swirling and stirring as the eggs set.

"Dean, why is our guest cooking?" Cas interrupted the banter as Adam pulled a tray of roasted mushrooms from the convection oven and added them to his pan along with goat cheese whipped with, it looked like, chives. He hadn't shown Adam the herb garden on the patio last night, so Dean must have or he'd wandered out there himself? Mmm. Nice.

"Because he likes to," Dean replied. "Ellen teaches basically everyone who comes through their house to cook as like, life skills or something, but Adam got really good at it."

A faint pink crept over Adam's cheeks, "hope you don't mind, Cas. Dean said it was fine. And I haven't had a great kitchen in awhile, and yours has all the stuff."

"I don't mind at all. Those eggs look amazing, and like I told you last night, please make yourself at home."

Dean stood up and absently placed a kiss on the top of Cas' forehead as he moved into the kitchen to take utensils out of the drawers and top off coffee for everyone. "The plates are in the warmer," Adam told him and Dean nodded in affirmation and pulled a bowl of sliced fruit from the fridge. "Want to eat at the table on the patio?" Dean asked.

"Sounds good." Cas told him. "Oh, I think there's some orange juice in there?" Adam nodded, "yep, I saw that."

"Grab it, will you?" Cas asked him. "I've got some cava in the wine cellar, we can make mimosas." 

Assignments decided, they all set about moving the food, dishes, and drinks out to the patio table where there was a pleasant breeze in the mid-80s. The week of Halloween could have highs near 100 degrees in the desert, or it could be rainy, or to the dismay of children everywhere, it could be sweaters-over-your-costumes weather. Today, the light clouds were keeping the temperatures balmy while mitigating the direct sunlight. 

Settled into brunch and good conversation, Cas smiled at the easiness between Adam and Dean. He'd spent some time with Adam last night, first when they'd chosen linens for and made up the bed. Then while Cas walked him through using the alarm, the tv, the white noise machine, the shower controls, the wifi password. And then just because. Adam kept finding questions to ask and Cas quickly understood Adam didn't want to be alone yet and found things to show him or talk with him about. This half of the loft was designed for guests and had a large open sitting room with a wet bar and walls of windows and framed black and white photographs of doorways and windows. Adam  had asked him about each one, and Cas described the visits to Great Britain, Mexico, Belize, Costa Rica, Canada, Spain, Majorca, France, Cuba. 

They'd sat on the couch for awhile and drank herbal tea and talked about Dean. Adam shared a few funny stories about Dean roaring up to the Singer house in his late father's Impala, and swaggering out of the driver's side as Sam bounced out from the passenger side and bounded up to the door. As a foster kid, he'd been in awe of the boys who would take him for drives, shopping for clothes, and always managed to slip him some cash for incidentals. Dean even gave Adam the money to buy tickets for prom. Bobby had wanted to considering he could afford it and Dean was supporting both himself and Sam, but Dean insisted it was a guys thing. Sam had tidied up their apartment, set out the matching dishes and a tablecloth, and then he and Dean cooked an elaborate lasagna and Italian salad (Sam had insisted), and then left it all in their place and made themselves scarce so Adam could have a fancy dinner for his date in private. Adam's eyes had taken a faraway look, and then he'd cleared his throat and told Cas his prom date had thought it was really cool to be having dinner alone in his big brothers' apartment.

He'd asked how Cas met Dean, and Cas told him about having the coffee shop next to Sam's business, and how he'd met Sam first. And then Dean had come in to tell them to stop messing with Sam, and he'd tried to take Dean home, but Dean turned him down and basically ran out on him.  Adam said he couldn't ever imagine Dean turning down a hookup. Cas said he'd gotten Dean back by laying a hot kiss on him at First Fridays and then leaving him there in the street. He did an impression of the open-mouthed shock on Dean's face. Adam said he was pretty sure that was the face he was making when Dean kissed him earlier at Gammage. He and Adam had laughed a long time at that.

Back at the brunch table, Adam was asking something and Cas tuned in to hear, "... you guys ever wear shirts around here?"

Cas snorted into his mimosa when Dean responded with, "nope. Not today. You're lucky we've got pants. Nudity is the preferred dress code on Shared Bed Saturday."

"What the fuck is Shared Bed Saturday?"

And then Dean was relaying the story of how he'd gone to sleep with Cas and woken up with Meg. Adam goggled at Dean and then Cas. Cas goggled back at him. Dean goggled. They were goggling at each other. And then they were laughing. "Clearly we've had too little alcohol," Cas laughed holding up the empty cava bottle. I'll go get another."

"I don't know," said Dean. "I was going to call the prosecutor and get a deal on the table."

Cas paused at the door and looked back at his boyfriend and the suddenly sober face of Adam. Cas moved behind Adam and put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. Adam leaned his head back against Cas' stomach and Dean's face went soft at the sight. "Want to put it off tomorrow, kid?"

"Would that work?"

"Yeah, I'll just text in to the boss that we want to arrange a meeting for tomorrow."

"Is that OK, Dean?" Cas asked softly, hands still on Adam.

Dean shrugged. "I need Adam, so we're gonna do what the kid wants. You want to stay here today, man? Take a load off with me and Cas?"

"You don't mind?"

Cas squeezed his shoulders again, "we told you we're happy you're here. You can stay with us as long as you like." 

"You keep saying that," Adam said softly and wryly.

"And I'll keep saying it until you believe, it" Cas said back to him, warm and chiding.

"What about Roman? What if he texts me to come in?" Adam asked a worried tinge to his words.

"I think Meg said she was going to be with him today because he was going to be in his office, and he'd asked her to teach him to box." Cas added.

"He wants to learn to box. That's hilarious," Dean snarked. "Wants to be a tough guy, but like, with rules and manners and shit."

"Meg boxes?" Adam asked. distracted from his worry by the sheer curiosity. 

"She learned at a Y when she was a teenager," Cas informed them. "She drops into one of the Ys here when she's in town to train with teenagers. Don't tell anyone. She doesn't like people to know she has a heart."

Dean chuckled. Took his phone out and sent a text. His phone beeped almost immediately and he nodded at Adam. "Done."

Adam sat for a moment, still and quiet. Then took a sip of water and asked in a stronger voice, "well, what were you guys going to do today? I don't want to get in the way."

Dean smiled, "you're pretty much looking at it. Except we'll also probably do a little adulting."

"Adulting?" Adam asked curiously.

"You know, put in some laundry, check the fridge and update the shopping list. Get out of the way of the housekeepers by going for a drink downstairs later this afternoon. Adulting."

"I have to learn all this new vocabulary," Adam said in mock seriousness, "adulting, shared bedding, cava."

"Speaking of," said Cas, "I'll go get another bottle. Are we staying out here or moving indoors?"

"My freckles are sprouting freckles out here," grumped Dean checking out the freckling on his forearms. 

"Oh, don't give us your bullshit, Dean. We know you know girls love those!" Adam teased. Dean smacked him in the arm. Cas could hear Adam scolding Dean about roughhousing around the 'nice' dishes as he went back inside for more bubbly and to refill the water pitcher.

 

 ***

Charlie was rummaging around in the shop's kitchen when Kevin arrived. "Back here!" she answered in response to his "Charlie! Where you at!?" as he pushed his bicycle through the door and leaned it against a wall.

He smiled as she came out of the kitchen with two beers in one hand and a plate with a giant sandwich in the other. "Oh thank god, I'm starving!" he told her. 

They dropped into chairs together at a table where Charlie's laptop was already set up. "Is Cas coming in?" he asked her looking at the two bottles of beer.

"Nah." He's still playing slutty long-weekend with Hot Cop. 

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You saw the Insty clubbing pics?"

"No!" and Kevin dug out his tablet. "Whoah! These are so hot! What is Meg wearing!? Damn did you see these shoes?"

Charlie smirked and nodded. "I'm still trying to figure out how Cas squeezed Dean into those jeans."

Kevin looked up at her curiously. "Cas squeezed ... what?"

Charlie leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially even though they were alone in the closed coffee shop, "Dean moved in with him!"

"Oh my god! That is the best!" Kevin chortled and they squeed together and high-fived.

"I know, right!?" Charlie giggled. "But good goddesses is that a lot of pretty under one roof."

"Ohmygod! They're going to have the prettiest babies!" Kevin added. They laughed and clinked their beer bottles.

"I'm totally going to be the best man," Charlie told him sagely, "so, you'd better hope Dean let's you be a bridesmaid."

"You know I'm self conscious about my legs," Kevin whined. 

"Dude, between the cycling and the standing on your feet all day here, your legs are amazing."

"Aww, thanks, Charlie. You say the sweetest things."

"Yep. I'm a sweetie. Everyone says so."

"Speaking of how you're being a sweetie, I suppose you've looked through all the applications and found me another couple of baristas because our early morning crew is solid, but our afternoon coverage is a little patchy."

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Charlie nodded. "I've got a bunch of apps here, but there are some standouts. Three, actually, and I think we should hire them all."

"So, let's do it." Kevin told her, "I trust you."

Charlie sighed. Of course he had to say that. "Look, Kev. I love you. And you know I don't poke my nose in your business even though I'm super nosey and meddling by nature."

"Uh oh," Kevin said slowly. "I don't like the sound of this."

Charlie scrubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, believe me, I don't like it either. I'm just gonna put it out there. I don't know what went down in the grad program because you haven't told me, and I didn't want to ask you when you so very clearly don't want to talk about it."

"Charlie..." Kevin said, tone clearly a warning.

"No, wait. Hang on. Devin applied for a job," Charlie rushed to get it all out before he could tell her to stop, "she completed the online application and submitted it. I got it in the shop email and intercepted it. And then I deleted the email. But then I thought I should tell you. So you knew."

"She did what?" Kevin asked, stunned.

"Yeah, look, Kevin. We can ignore it, but I'd really rather write her a formal letter telling her that I have declined to review her application and any and all future applications from her."

"Why on earth would she do that?" 

"I don't know, Kev. I've pretty much frozen her out of anything I have anything to do with. And everyone down there knows I own this place. She's got to know..."

"Charlie, this isn't about you!" Kevin shouted and shoved himself back from the table.

"Oh my gods, I'm sorry! I'm just babbling because I'm anxious. Sit down, Kevin."

"No."

Charlie stood up and caught his arm. "Kevin..."

"Goddammit!" Kevin shouted and threw his beer bottle against the wall where it shattered and glass across the floor.

"I'll clean that right up," Charlie said as she moved toward the kitchen and cleaning supplies.

"Don't you dare," Kevin said low and dangerous. "Don't you even think of touching it."

"Ok, Kevin." She stood next to him in silence while he stared at the wall. Then he walked back to the kitchen and came back with a broom, dustpan and bleach wipes. Charlie stood silently watching as Kevin swept up the glass into the dustpan. Then he wiped down the wall and the floor and tossed the bleach wipes into the dustpan.

And then he leaned his back against the wall and put his hands over his face. "Charlie. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"You didn't scare me, Kevin. You just got mad."

"I'm not mad at you. I was never mad at you."

"It's ok if you are."

"But I'm not. It's Devin," he sighed. "She just makes me a terrible version of myself."

"You want to talk about it?"

Kevin walked back to the table and slumped down in his chair. "Maybe I need to. But, I'm serious, Charlie. I'm not filing a complaint."

"Not asking you to. I'm just trying to be a friend here."

"It's a long story."

Charlie sat in silence. He'd talk or not if he wanted to. She wasn't going to push.

"I'm going to throw that glass away and bring two more beers," he told her.

He got up and carried the broom and refuse back to the kitchen. Then she heard him walk down the hall to the bathroom. She sat clicking through the Instagram photos tagged with Hexx until he came back, face freshly scrubbed and a little water dripping from his hair. He settled back into the chair across from her and handed her a beer. Then he took a sip of his own and set it back down on the table so that he could begin shredding a paper napkin into teeny-tiny pieces.

"My first semester," he started still staring at his hands as he shredded napkin pieces, "I was on fellowship. As you know. So I didn't attend the teaching summer bootcamp with the other new phd students in my cohort. I didn't meet any of them until that first day of research methods. They were pretty standoffish, which, you know, grad school is competitive, and I was the only one with the first-year non-teaching fellowship." Charlie nodded at it him. As much as they tried to encourage collaboration between the grad students, the feeling that it was a zero sum game and they were competing against each other for limited resources was an aspect of grad school culture that was hard to crack. It could lead to some pretty unpleasant social tensions.

"Anyway, Devin wasn't. She introduced herself straightaway, and then when we were told to partner up for our first project, she glomped me. I thought at the time that was pretty great, that I was making friends." Charlie nodded again. The talk among her fellow faculty was that Kevin and Devin had been thick as thieves until they'd had a falling out. And Kevin had quit the program abruptly. There was some speculation that there was a messy breakup, but since until Kevin dropped out, there had never been any suggestion of a romantic relationship, it was an odd rumor. Charlie had poked at it carefully and had generally traced the rumor probably back to Devin herself, but it wasn't anything Charlie could prove.

"And then, I realized after that first semester, that when we got together to work, we mostly drank. Which was fine. We weren't driving or anything. That second semester got pretty dark. She complained all the time about everyone, and I'm just not like that. So I tried to distance myself a little, to make more friends, but every time I'd plan something with someone, she'd be there too. I guess everyone just invited us both like we were a package deal. Devin and Kevin. When I went home that summer to visit my family is probably the first time I realized this wasn't a good thing she and I had. She got really upset if I didn't text her every day or respond to her texts within minutes of receiving them. We had a couple of ugly fights where she'd call screaming at me and I just don't do drama. So I told her that. She didn't like that at all."

He stopped shredding the napkin and began piling it into a little fluffy heap. She waited him out as he took a couple of more pulls of beer.

"That fall, when the department extended my fellowship because I'd had that article published, I was working really hard in the computer lab. And I didn't have a lot of time for much. But I'd get home from school or library or whatever and she'd just be sitting on the steps outside my apartment reading a book or listening to music. Finally, I told her that I just didn't think we should spend time together anymore. That I wanted to be friends, but I wanted to start prepping for my exams. She exploded at me, and my neighbors called the cops who basically told her she was drunk, and then they drove her home. Somehow she talked them into that."

Charlie took his hand in hers, "that sounds completely terrible, Kevin."

He laughed bitterly. "And that was  _before_ she started stalking me."

"She was stalking you?!" Charlie sat upright, eyes steeled. Because that was a serious violation of university student conduct.

"Yeah. I have all the stories. She was everywhere, all the time. And then she attacked a girl I was dating. Physically confronted her in the gym parking lot. I'd seriously been on two dates with Kelly, but she showed up at my apartment with a black eye and told me that my ex-girlfriend was crazy. Since my ex-girlfriend was back home, I had no idea what she was talking about. It wasn't until I bumped into Devin in the hallway a couple of days later, and she had healing scratches on her throat, that I figured it out. But, then Kelly told me to stop calling her."

"Jesus, Kevin."

"And I'd try talking to people about it but, like, they were all that she was jealous, that I needed to be supportive, or that she must be in love with me or something. They had _no_ idea. And also, like, who the fuck cares why she was doing it? Like, way to victim-blame, people."

"Did I do that to you, Kevin?"

"Nah. I really wanted to impress you, so I never talked to you about it. But I went to a couple of other faculty, and they really liked her. She's charming and everything. And, you know me, I just work all the time. And they basically told me to help her more and be more generous about interpreting her behavior because she was just socially awkward or something."

"My colleagues told you that?" 

"Yeah. And then I woke up with her passed out in my bed with me. I still have no idea how she got into my place. She must have had a key made at some point. I don't know. Anyway, when I couldn't wake her up, she just kept grumbling at me and going back to sleep, I rummaged through her bag to find her phone to call someone on her friends list and found the drugs. And I was so done."

"Drugs?"

"Prescription bottles for uppers and downers. Lots of them. Look, I have depression too. And I see a shrink too. And my life is hard too. But I don't pay that shit forward onto anyone. I try to manage my shit myself. And I'm a computer scientist, not a shrink. I pay a shrink for shrinking me. I'm not here to hold together another human being, and I sure as hell didn't appreciate people at school trying to make her my problem. No one would help me!"

"Oh, Kevin, that's so hard. What did you do?"

"I left a note that she should get the fuck out of my place and never come back. Then I went to the main campus library and slept in a chair until our student services opened up. Then I went in there and withdrew from grad school. And I spent the rest of the day finding a new apartment and hiring movers to pack my old place up and move my stuff in to the new one. I slept on the floor of my new place because while I could move in immediately, I couldn't get movers scheduled for a week, so I ate microwave noodles and yogurt for a week until I could get my stuff."

He stopped talking for a moment and played with his pile of napkin shreds. 

"I just lived on my savings account for a few months playing a lot of WoW until you called and told me you and Cas were doing Grounds for Murder."

"So why didn't you want to file a complaint? Was it because of the faculty response?"

"Yeah. And my cohort. No one really saw her the way I did. Everyone liked her. And everyone thought I was so privileged and indulged by the program and that I just couldn't cope with how popular she was. They told me that. They even told me that I sounded like I was obsessed. There was so much shit that happened. So much. And like the more time passes, and the more I feel better and the more I unwind, the more connections I make. Like, with some distance, I can see so much more shit she did. And I kind of hate the program that she's still there, still being completely messed up, and I don't want anything to do with it now."

Charlie sighed. This was a serious clusterfuck. And some of the stuff with Devin was confidential. She couldn't just tell Kevin what was going on, but Devin wasn't going to make it through her exams. She'd be out at the end of the academic year, no matter what. Even if she could resolve the behavior issues that had become an ongoing issue with the faculty who were fed up with her needy attitude. She'd racked up several incompletes, and there was an investigation into an accusation that she'd sabotaged one of her cohort mates in a collaborative project. But Charlie couldn't tell Kevin any of that. And she needed to think about how this had happened, and go back through their records, and see if she could spot any more warning signs. There's a problem with academia in general that bad behavior often gets conflated with eccentricity. But, this seemed like it had been completely misread from the beginning. Charlie suspected it was because Kevin was Asian and male and it was so easy to believe stereotypes about people. And so unfair.

Kevin filled the silence with, "if I haven't said it recently, thanks for introducing me to Cas, for giving me this job, and for helping me find a place that makes me feel like I belong."

"Oh, Kevin. I wish I'd done so much more for you."

"Whatever, Charlie. It's behind me now."

She looked at him, stricken and profoundly sad, but he seemed ok. He raised his bottle to clink with hers. "Can we change the subject?" he asked.

"Sure," she told him clinking her bottle to his. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Can we finalize the plans for our Halloween party? We're having it at yours, right?"

"Yeah! Let's talk about the party."

 

***

 

They washed every towel in the house and a load of jeans, and sorted through the cupboards and refrigerator, adding items to the grocery list. Cas convinced Adam that he was staying for at least a week, which gave Adam a chance to offer to cook a few of his favorite things, and all of that went onto the shopping list. Dean was looking forward to the being the eater of the lasagna instead of the maker. And there was something about steak with chimichurri.

They got more than a little tipsy on cocktails and fancy nibbles at the bar downstairs. Dean started another singalong in the bar, and Cas taught a bachelorette party some simple salsa steps. Adam just ate chipotle popcorn and laughed at the antics. When it came time to leave, the bachelorette party tried to keep all three of them, and Cas looked like he was about to invite them all back upstairs, but Adam told Dean he didn't think their lives needed any more complications. So, Dean reclaimed his boyfriend from the bridesmaids who were in a deep discussion with Cas about which brand of matte liquid lipstick wore better. Dean was gonna need a demonstration of lipstick staying power after they put Adam to bed.

Upstairs, they'd played Mario Cart and trash-talked each other. Cas INSISTED on being either Princess Peach or Yoshi. No other characters would do. But Dean and Adam both liked Yoshi. And Peach did have a pretty fast ride. Also, Mario Cart isn't designed as a drinking game, but it turns out, it can easily be converted into one. After they were laughing so hard they were in tears, Cas suggested they binge watch Arrow. And about four minutes in, Adam suggested they take a drink anytime any one of the characters managed to end up [shirtless](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOFBPXXRW00/U5T7EXQsB3I/AAAAAAAABEg/P_LvcZOVIBA/s1600/tumblr_n1mz5gFUgp1qdm7rno2_500.gif). Which was a lot. 

Adam made angel hair with lemon, crushed red pepper, garlic, olive oil and pecorino romano, and they ate obscene amounts of pasta while yelling at Arrow and the gang about how the fuck they always manage to let the Malcolm Merlin exit stage left instead of putting that asshole down for good. Except Dean, who thought Barrowman was "kinda hot," and then there was a lengthy discussion of the hotness quotient of each and every person on the show. In the end, obviously, David Ramsey was declared the hottest by unanimous vote. Dean threatened to deduct "straight points" from Adam, but Cas launched into a tipsy lecture about how straight men can appreciate the attractiveness of other men without losing any of their straightness. it wasn't supposed to be a comedic lecture but tipsy!Cas was so earnest, and Adam was sitting behind Cas making serious faces over his shoulder. Dean couldn't help laughing his ass off because that shit was funny.

By 10PM, Cas and Adam were lying on the couch and Dean was sprawled over the floor, and the volume was off on Arrow while they Mystery Science Theatered their way through an episode with Huntress. Dean was doing Huntress' voice, and  _that_ shit was funny as he had her threatening to stab everyone. 

They were startled out of their reverie by pounding on the front door. Dean looked to Cas who shrugged. And they both got up to answer the door. For lack of anything better to do, Adam followed them. "Clarence! Open the fucking door!" They could hear Meg faintly through the security door. 

"Shit!" Dean said. "Did we tell her the new combination?"

"I texted it to her," Cas told him with a confused look on his face. He pulled open the door to find Meg leaning heavily on the door jamb. 

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope," she snarked as Adam and Dean gaped at her. Cas stepped up to her side, sliding his arm around her, and then sweeping her up into his arms to carry her inside.

"Adam!" Cas shouted. "There's a large, blue rubbermaid box in the closet where we got your sheets last night. It's a first aid kit. Get it and bring it to my bathroom."

"Where's your bathroom?" Adam asked and Dean grabbed Adam and said, "you show me the closet," and together they headed off down the hall while Cas carefully carried Meg into bathroom and leaned her against the vanity. She was a mess. Her left eye was swollen and there was dried blood on her forehead, beneath her nose, and down her chin.  Her hair was matted with blood and maybe grease. Her throat had visible bruising, and her wrists were bloodied and raw. She was barefoot and her feet were dirty and bloody. "Jesus," he swore, holding one hand behind her head as he used the other to open her eyes and watch her pupils react to the light. Maybe a concussion. "Fuck."

"I'm fine, Clarence," she told him.

"The hell you are, you lunatic," he huffed fondly planting a gentle kiss on the swelling, bloody knot on her forehead. He unbuttoned her jeans and eased them off her hips and down over her feet. They were dirty and stiff and smelled of gasoline. He tossed them to the side and began unbuttoning her shirt when Dean and Adam charged in, Dean with the box and Adam on his heels looking stricken.

"Hey, kiddo," she told him cheerily.

"Fuck, what happened to you?" Adam asked as Dean yanked the lid off the box and set it on the floor, then began running water in the tub, fiddling with the temperature.

"Get me some tequila, someone?" Meg asked.

Adam turned and jogged out of the bathroom while Cas peeled off her dirty blouse and tossed it in the corner. Her took her left arm and turned it carefully. She hissed. Broken nails, busted knuckles, wrists torn up from some kind of rope, skinned elbow, some bruises. Similar damage to her right arm, except her wrist was tender when he rotated it. "Sprain?" he asked her. She shrugged. "I think it's just pissed because I punched a lot of people."

"You're going to kill me, woman," Cas told her, and he pressed his forehead to hers holding both her hands carefully in his. 

Dean poured two bottles of peroxide in the bath and shook in a couple of cups of epsom salts. 

Adam was back with a whiskey glass that contained about 8 ounce of tequila. "Good boy!" Meg praised him as he passed it to her. 

"Baby, I haven't checked your lip yet," Cas told her but she just smirked and knocked back a healthy swallow. "I'll save you the trouble - they're split and the inside of my cheek is all chewed up from where one of those assholes went through my block and caught me upside the face."

"Goddammit," Dean swore from where he was arranging gauze pads, tape, scissors and the like. Absently, Cas thought Dean was efficient, and then realized he must have had more than a little first aid training in his line of work. "Adam, grab one of those dish towels in the drawer by the fridge and fill it with ice and bring it here. And get her some fucking ice for that glass. And don't you even start with me about how tequila isn't good cold, ninjagirl, you'll drink your drink cool and you'll fucking like it."

"Oooh, bossy!Dean is bossy! Me likey."

"Shush," Cas whispered. "Just try to relax. I'm going to poke around on your ribs."

"Left side," she told him. "Don't think they're broken, but it's a good bruise."

"You mean the loose one?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"Meg, I can't pop a dislocated rib back in."

"Then get Dean to do it," she told him. "also why am I the only one in my underwear? Pants off, everyone!"

Cas turned to Adam, "I'm going to ask you to step out of the room. And to take Dean with you."

"Come on, Cas..." Dean began.

"It's OK, Dean," Meg told him over Cas shoulder. "This isn't the first time he's patched me up."

Dean looked like he was going to argue, and then he saw Adam's devastated face. Yeah. "OK, Cas. We're gonna lay on our bed and watch some Netflix while you put her back together."

"Oh! Shared Bed Saturday!" Meg giggled. Dean tugged Cas to one side and slid in front of Meg kissing her bruised lips carefully. She winced.

"So, maybe now I understand why Cas has an ambulance-worth of first aid supplies in his house," Dean told her, brushing the hair out of her face, the symmetry of their first night together in this bathroom making him more than a little queasy. 

Reading the expression on his face, she patted his cheek. "I'm fine, Dean."

He kissed the tip of her nose, and then hauled Adam out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them. Cas pulled his t-shirt off over his head and began working the buttons on his jeans when Meg hooted in glee, "holy fuck! Look at you!" He batted her hands away gently as she reached to trace the bites all over his torso.

He helped her out of her underpants and then moved her gently to the tub. She hissed again as the abraded skin and deeper cuts met warm water.

"Let's get these all washed out, and then we'll see about getting your some stitches."

"I don't need any stitches, Cas. The cut on my head bled a lot, but it isn't deep. The rest of these will be fine with bandages and maybe a little bit of glue."

Leaning her back, he carefully rinsed her hair with a hand sprayer. "What's this grease on you from?" he asked as he rubbed in a little chamomile shampoo into her hair.

"Um? Floor of the garage. There was some grappling on the floor. It could have been sexy, but no, it was just gross and dirty."

He clucked at her and used the sprayer again to rinse the shampoo. The blood rinsed out and a little more flowed, but it looked like it was really scabbing over ok.

 With a soft brush, he scrubbed carefully at her hands removing blood, grit and who knows what else from her knuckles. She fidgeted but didn't complain. He pulled her into his lap and used the same brush on her feet. She had what was probably a broken toe, and she looked like she was missing part of a toenail.

With a washcloth, he carefully patted off every scrape and bruise and scrubbed at patches of dirt and grease. 'You're kind of a mess," he told her kissing her neck as he gently washed a big scrape over her shoulder. "You say the sweetest things," she told him sighing under his attentions. "Fuck, I'm tired."

"I'll bet," he whispered into her wet hair. "Keep your wrists under water. I going to need to take a brush to them, but I want to do it in the shower with the antibacterial wash. And it'll go faster if you've soaked some of the debris out of them."

"Ugh! Not the smelly red soap!" she mock-whined. As if that were the worst thing she could imagine happening today.

"Yes, the smelly red soap," he laughed, "and afterwards, you'll eat all your vegetables, young lady."

She settled back into his arms. "Thanks for taking care of me, Cas."

"You mean taking care of you again?" he said placing a couple of kisses on the top of her head and wrapping his arms carefully around her so as not to bump her ribs.

"Yes, I mean taking  care of me again, you asshole," she told him fondly.

"Was this Roman?" he asked her carefully.

"His men."

"How'd the get the rope around your wrists?"

"Hit me over the head and made me dizzy enough to control me for a couple of minutes."

"Thus the big cut on the top of your head?"

"Thus the big cut on the top of my head," she agreed.

He snuggled her close, with less concern for bruising, but neither of them minded. "What do you think Dean's going to do?" she asked him.

"Arrest him, I imagine," Cas told her.

"I meant about the bodies I dropped," she replied.

"Self defense is self defense, baby," he told her gently. 

"Yeah, but it's one thing for him to think I'm dangerous in abstract. It's different when you see it in person."

"I'm pretty sure he knows that. But, I'm guessing that keeping him out there much longer is going to test his already limited patience. Let's get you into the shower and finish bandaging you up."

"Oh yeah, I'm way looking forward to the smelly red soap and the wound brush."

"I'll be gentle, I promise."

"This might be the first time I've ever asked anyone to be gentle with me," she smirked at him. 

Cas had Meg wrapped in fluffy towels and was wrapping her ankle in an ace bandage when Dean knocked on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?" and then he opened the door without waiting for an answer.

"Hi, Dean," she told him smiling warmly.

"You ok?" he asked her, face filled with concern.

"I'm good."

"I went over to your place and rooted around in your drawers for these little things you wear to bed," he said holding up a pair of cotton boyshorts and matching tank in bright pink.

"You went through my underwear drawer?" she asked him cheekily. "Naughty!"

"Yes, I did, and we are definitely going to be talking about some of the things in that drawer when you're feeling better," he told her with a wink.

Cas eyeballed Dean who stood stubbornly in the doorway. Cas put his hands on his hips and Dean crossed his arms over his chest. Meg cracked first laughing and then wincing at the pain in her ribs. "Ouch! Stop making me laugh, you dorks!" she told them sternly. 

"We'll be out in a minute," Cas said shoving Dean gently out the door and closing it behind him. 

"I'm counting it down," Dean shouted through the door.

"Stop making her laugh!" Cas shouted back as Meg giggled again and gasped at the pain.

"49 seconds left!" Dean shouted back.

Cas finished patting Meg dry and helped her into the jammies. "I don't think you should walk on that ankle."

"So, you'll help me," she told him and together they limped Meg out to Dean who took one look at her, ace bandages on her ribs, ankle, wrists, and one knee. Pads of gauze on her shoulder, elbows, knees. Butterfly bandages on some of her knuckles. A bunch of salve on various parts of her face. Bruises on her throat, her eye swelling closed, and his eyes narrowed. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her despite her protests that she could walk just fine. 

He placed her carefully on his side of the bed as Adam scrambled up waiting to be given instructions. Dean sent him to get water. "Get in Cas," he told his boyfriend.

"Shared Bed Saturday, Gorgeous!" Meg said brightly, patting the bed next to her indicating that Dean should crawl in too. 

"You're pretty beat up, ninjagirl. You need plenty of space. Cas can sleep with you tonight, and I'll get Adam to show me where we keep the other guest room."

"Dean..." Cas began, but Dean interrupted him raising both of his hands in the universal sign of 'don't fuck with me on this.' "Look, I don't like anything about this. I want to pull a chair in here and sit in it all night where I can keep an eye on both of you. Well, half of me wants to do that. The other half of me wants to go burn down with prejudice whatever this shit is all about," Dean gestured to Meg. "But I ain't doing that. What I'm doing is tucking the two of you in together where you can keep and eye on each other, and then I'm going to get dressed and have my partner come get me. And _then_ I'm going to call my bosses and get us all over to wherever this happened. Because I've been drinking, so I can't be a part of this investigation, but if this is what you look like, Meg, then I'm guessing there's bodies on the ground out there. And I'm going to be there when they open the crime scene so I can explain it to the bosses. And then, I'm going to set up some appointments for Adam to meet some people he needs to talk to. And then, if there's time for sleep, I'll grab a couple of hours in our guest room. I'm going to do my fucking job. Tomorrow is going to fucking suck for everyone, so, please. Just stay here together. Take care of each other."

Dean finished with a sigh and sat down heavily on the bench at the foot of the bed just as Adam came back in with two glasses and a large pitcher of ice water. "Good job," Dean told Adam who started pouring water in glasses and handing them to Meg and Cas.

"I got to get to work, kid. Can you keep an eye on these two while I'm gone?"

"Yeah, sure, Dean. Anything."

"Thanks, kid."

Dean stood up, grabbed his phone off the night table charger and sent a text to Jo who responded right away even though it was after 11PM. Then he turned back to the bed, "Meg, tell Cas the address. Cas, text it to me."

Cas nodded. Meg held her hands out, and he went to her, knelt by the bed and kissed each of her hands gently, and then looked into her face. She patted his cheek again. "You haven't even asked me what happened, Gorgeous."  
  
"I don't have to, baby. All I have to do is look at you -- someone clubbed you over the head and got you restrained. Which didn't sit well with you. So you got yourself out, messed your wrists and hands up pretty good doing it too," he laid several more kisses over each hand, "then you kicked a lot of ass on your way out of there. I didn't see your knife in the bathroom, so I'm thinking it's still stuck in someone's throat. And since you were with Roman last I heard, but you haven't mentioned him yet, I'm guessing that means he's on the move. So I need to get Adam set up and get the lawyers in the loop so we can get some search warrants out tonight. Tell me if I missed anything."

She smiled, "badass detective in an elite unit in the sixth largest police force in the country, yeah?"

"You bet your fine ass." He laid his head on her belly for a moment, just resting.

Then he stood up. "I'm going to get some clothes and my gear. And I'm going to shower at Meg's. Look, leave the bathroom the way it is, leave her clothes in there too, and I'll clean it up when I get back if my boss decides they don't need anything in there for evidence.  If they send an evidence collection unit over here, I'll call you first. In the meantime, please just use one of the other apparently plentiful bathrooms we have lurking around here. OK? Can you guys do that?"

"Yes, Dean." Cas told him. And then Cas drew Dean into a quick, tight hug. 

"You," Dean said to Adam. "Keep an eye on these two and get them anything you need. No one leaves Meg alone, ok? She may still have a concussion."

"I got it, Dean. I won't let anything happen to them."

"I know you won't kid." And then Dean grabbed his clothes, his weapons, and walked out the front door.

"You know," Adam said considering, "I think I'm going to drag a chair over here by the bed and watch tv with you guys."

"Yes, I definitely see the family resemblance," Cas said dryly. But he got into the bed carefully next to Meg while Adam dragged a club chair over to Meg's side of the bed.

For her part, Meg fiddled with the remote until she found the first season of Inspector Lewis on Amazon streaming. 

"Really, Meg? Murder tv?" Cas asked her cocking an eyebrow. 

"Oxford murder tv!" she told him brightly, "classy murder tv!" Adam laughed and they settled in together to watch the long suffering DS Hathaway help his boss solve crimes in the surprisingly dangerous home to the oldest university in the world. 

***

Dean took a scalding hot shower while Meg's coffee maker brewed. He dressed, filled a thermos, and was standing on the curb when Jo pulled up.

"Where we headed?"

He gave her the address and then told her it was the site of the abduction of his informant. "Holy fuck," she responded as she laid tire rubber all over the street in front of the Luhrs. 

"She's ok. She got herself out, and she's upstairs in my place. Cas has her."

"Dean, goddammit. What the fuck is going on?"

"In short, my girlfriend works for Roman. Says he's sketchy. Agreed to be an informant that I am running around Bobby and through the chief's office. She helped me get Adam out -- he's upstairs too. Roman caught on to her and sent people for her. But she's kind of a badass, so it didn't go well for them. She showed up all beat to hell on our doorstep. And now I'm calling in everyone and burning this shit to the ground."

Jo flicked her eyes to him, and then she reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. He gave her a quick squeeze in return. Then she retrieved her hand, tightened it on the steering wheel and pressed down on the accelerator. 

Dean got out his phone and started waking everyone up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need hugs after writing this ...


	32. Ashes Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CN: violent, crime scene descriptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because it ends at a natural break. sorry sorry!
> 
> ETA: (gah! I keep finding errors and updating :p )

Dean gave the desk sergeant the address from Cas, and two patrol units were dispatched to the residence nestled into a quiet, affluent neighborhood at the base of Camelback Mountain where Roman had apparently been AirBnB-ing. Cas had texted Dean that Meg had been held in the garage, and Dean relayed that to dispatch. When Jo and Dean rolled up, the uniforms were already on the scene. Jo went forward with them, while Dean leaned against the car door and continued to fiddle with his phone. Deputy Chief Richardson was fifteen minutes out.

The house cleared, Jo motioned Dean over to the front door. He strode up the front walk. "Dude. There's two guys fighting for their lives in there and four dead. The garage looks like a horror movie. I can give you a quick look, but then you have to get your ass back to the car and stay there. Paramedics in less than five."

Without a word, Dean pushed past Jo and headed into the house and to his right. It wasn't hard to follow Meg's bloody and dirty bare footprints across the white marble flooring. Two uniforms passed him on the way out, both were covered in blood. He nodded to them and kept going. He took one step through the open door into the four car garage and stopped cold.

One man was down just inside the door and a uniform was crouched over him, talking low. There was a belt wrapped tightly around his leg and it was clear from his pallor that he'd lost no small amount of blood. Dean stepped carefully past them watching his feet so as not to smear any of the blood or grease or dirty footprints on the floor. The footprint pattern across the floor was one fucked up ballet. One of the uniforms looked up, "if you'll wait, detective, my partner will be back with some plastic to stand on."

"Nah. I won't go in any farther," Dean told him. And true to his word, he stood in his place and took in the rest of the garage.

Over by a broken dining chair and a pile of coarse nylon rope was the other uniform. He had a heavy sweatshirt folded into a makeshift pressure pad over a man's stomach. The sweatshirt was soaked in blood and the guy looked sweaty and shaking. Shock. The uniform made eye contact with Dean, and the look there was anxious. Dean could hear the approaching sirens. He had maybe another minute.

Blood was smeared everywhere. It was all over the chair and pooled around it. The ropes were bloody. There was a tire iron on the garage floor with blood and hair on one end and the gods knew what else on it. Next to it was a man with a caved in forehead. Jesus. Half against, half beneath a little Mercedes coupe was yet another man whose throat was clearly cut and whose jeans were thick and dark with blood. Arterial spray was all over the side of the car.

There was oil and some other fluids mixed together in a large puddle against the wall of tool chests. It was elaborately smeared and struck Dean as some kind of macabre modern art, especially with the body in the middle of it, Meg's stiletto knife protruding from one eye.

Finally, there was one man, facedown and folded in half against the garage door, some kind of chain (maybe snow?) wrapped tightly around his neck. Dean was kind of grateful he couldn't see his face. One on the floor by the door, alive; one by the chair, alive for now; one with the tire iron, dead; one by the car, dead; one by the garage door, dead. That's five. He held up five fingers to the cop by the door who nodded once and said, "under the car." Dean crouched in place and saw he could just make out the shape of a body beneath the car. Six. Jesus. 

Dean carefully followed his own path back out the door and across the house to the front lawn. Jo was in conversation with another team of detectives and he scuttled by them, not drawing their attention, heading back to his position in the front passenger seat of the car. He slid into place, got out his tablet, activated the bluetooth keyboard and got to work checking and updating his case notes, beginning with everything that had happened since he'd brought Adam home, just 24 hours ago.

One of the Police Aides (PAs) on scene brought over a Dutch Bros cup and he waved it off, motioning to his thermos. Meg had the good coffee, he knew, because she'd pilfered it from Cas' regular bean delivery. He kept typing. He lips narrowed into a thin line as he remembered the swelling on the side of her face where she'd taken a hard blow. He kept typing. The PAs were rolling out crime scene tape and directing traffic - ambulances, paramedics, patrol units. It was a parking lot out there. He kept typing.

The driver's side of the door opened and Deputy Chief Richardson slid into the car with him. "Winchester."

"Ma'am."

"Hell of a mess in there."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your text accurate? They're both still at your place?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Does your informant need medical attention?"

"She's pretty beat up, but it appears to be mostly superficial. My boyfriend bandaged her up and is watching her for concussion."

"You sure she's OK?"

"Not entirely, ma'am. But she's obviously got some experience with this. She's not alone - she has Cas with her. And I figured my priority was this scene."

She stared at him a moment, dark brown eyes sharp and thoughtful. She'd probably made lieutenant on that calculating look alone, Dean thought and then brushed it away. 

She jerked her head toward the tablet in his lap, "that your report updates?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What are you doing next?"

"Ma'am?"

She narrowed her eyes and her face settled into a grim determination, "Roman's name is on this lease, but his body isn't at the scene. Any potential deal your foster brother had is tied to Roman. So, Winchester. What. Are. You. Doing. Next."

He took a deep breath, "I'm gonna go get Roman."

"Yes. Yes you are." She opened the door to step out onto the street, but paused to turn back. "I called in your lieutenant. He was pulling up a moment ago. Tell him what you have to. But keep him away from Roman. This is on you, kid."

"Yes, ma'am."

And she put both feet on the pavement, rose from the car, and closed the door behind her. He sat for a moment thinking. He needed a next move. He needed to talk to Meg.

 ***

Two loud thumps hammered on the roof of his car and then the passenger door swung opened, and Dean was being hauled out by a fist tightened in the front of his jacket and then slammed bodily into the side of the car.

He raised his hands, palms out in surrender as Bobby glowered inches from his face, "What the fuck, Dean?!"

"Bobby." Dean responded softly, hands still raised. 

Bobby released his grip on Dean's clothes and took a step back, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Son, you've got about five seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on here. All I heard FROM DISPATCH NO LESS was to meet you on the scene related to the Roman case. And that there were bodies down and rescue in bound."

Dean looked around and saw the PA with the coffee and waved her over, pointing at Bobby. Her tray was mostly empty at this point, and he took two cups, gave one to Bobby and kept one for himself so she'd be finished. He looked her over, "Stevens, Mary Katherine, MK" she offered. He nodded.

"MK," he told her, "this is Lieutenant Singer. He's gonna need a driver and an assistant to help him manage all the info that's going to come at him in the next few hours."

"Yes, detective," the 5'10" redhead with freckles and a serious expression replied.

"Dean ..." Bobby began, but Dean just pointed to the coffee in his hand, "Sir, drink that. I talk, you drink. And then, if you want to throttle me, I'll give you your shot. But after that, old man, we've got to get to work."

Stevens dropped the cardboard drink tray onto the front yard and moved to fade into the background, and Dean shook his head, "no. You stay. Just know you're in a very small group of people who know the details. Very small. Let's keep it that way until Deputy Chief Richardson, this is her task force, clears it."

Stevens nodded and took her place at Bobby's side.

Bobby glowered at Dean, "so, this is a task force?"

"It is now," Dean told him. "It's you, me, Jo and MK here." 

"Jo was in on this mess too?" Bobby looked like he was going to start up again so Dean cut him off, and turned to Stevens, "go find Detective Harvelle, the badass blonde one, and bring her back here. Now." 

"Yes, detective," Stevens replied and set off into the growing crowd of uniforms.

Dean turned back to his boss, "first, Bobby, Adam is safe. He's holed up at my place where no one can get to him, and he's fine."

"That stupid little shack of yours downtown?! No, Dean, he is not..."

"No, Bobby. I live in a high rise now. With security on the lobby and separate security on the floor. Cameras. The works. I've also sent a patrol unit over there to sit on the place. Nothing is going to happen to him right now."

Bobby just stared at him. 

Dean stared back.

"You live in a high rise?" Bobby said slowly, sampling the sound of the words as they came out of his mouth.

"I do now, sir."

"Son, is this story going to be like that time your momma got fed up with you and sent you to live with Ellen and me for six months. And on the third day, I ran into that Edwin boy in his underwear, in my kitchen, in the middle of the night, smelling like reefer and bad decisions."

"His name was Ember."

"What?"

"The boy in the kitchen, his name was Ember."

"Boy, that fucker's name is so not the point right now."

"He was a poet, Bobby, not a fucker... Well, yeah, but also a poet."

Bobby sputtered and fumed and then caught the quirk in Dean's lip and sputtered out a laugh. "Asshole!" he snarked at Dean who chuckled back, "good times."

Stevens returned with Jo, and Dean filled them in up to where he was now, handing Stevens his tablet, and she shared the cloud files to their user accounts. 

There were a few guffaws, a couple of snarky comments, and no small amount of harrumphing from Bobby, but Dean got through it, dignity mostly in tact. At one point, the ever-efficient Stevens brought up the Instagram pics on a tablet and rolled through them as visual aids. Jo smirked and Bobby scowled and muttered something about at least that Edwin boy was polite enough to introduce himself and here Bobby hadn't even met Castiel and Meg yet. So much for respecting your elders. Jo hid a hysterical bubble of laughter behind her hand.

"So," Dean explained, "if I want the deal for Adam, I've got to get to Roman. And now."

"He's got the means," Jo added thinking aloud, "what makes us think he's not out of the country by now?"

"We don't know that he's not," Dean replied, "but I'm betting no. He's not going to run. He wants to win. Which is why I need to talk to Meg."

"Because we need to know what happened between her and Roman that set this whole thing in the garage into motion?" Jo asked. "You know, I don't know yet a lot of what happened in there, but one of the dead guys has pictures of her tied to that chair and bleeding on his phone. There's some video. While we don't have the details, and obviously we're just getting into it, she's clearly a victim."

Dean's head came up at that, "video. Yeah, that tracks. Roman would want me to know."

"She's OK, right?" Jo asked him, one hand on his forearm.

"Yeah. She's alright, she's with Cas."

"OK," Bobby said. "So we need to get over to your place and question Adam and your girlfriend about what happened tonight, and see if she knows where Roman went."

"I think if she had any idea where Roman was headed, she would have told me. And Bobby, you can't talk to either of them. You've got to sit the bench on this one."

"No way in hell is that going to happen, Sparky," Bobby snarled at him. 

"Yes, it is, Bobby. Chief Richardson was crystal clear on that point."

"Well, I don't give a fuck what Anita wants. And I don't know why you think you want to talk to your girlfriend if you don't think she knows anything. And I think this whole thing doesn't make any sense, and I'm not sure why she's not sitting in a jail cell tonight. And goddammit Dean, I want to talk to my son! Right the fuck now!"

"Bobby..." Dean began. And Bobby puffed up and got in Dean's face, Dean pushing back. There was some shoving. No one's career was going up in flames tonight if they could help it. Sure getting Roman was priority one. Saving Adam was priority two. But close priority three was getting everyone through this with minimal career damage. Bobby needed to calm the fuck down. Of course, Dean wasn't exactly the picture of calm rationality at the moment either. 

Jo clambered in between the posturing men. "Guys! Guys!"

"Sirs?" Stevens interjected. Everyone froze and looked at the steely-eyed PA with the freckles and delicate Irish features.

Dean nodded that she should proceed.

"I can take the lieutenant back to the shop where we can start reading through these reports in detail. I can help him as he sets up a command center. And then you and Detective Harvelle can follow Roman. You can call in with regular updates, and we can convey whatever information comes in from the crime scene, TSA, border patrol, and I'm assuming you want a federal alert?"

Jo nodded. "That sounds great, MK. You should do that. But we're missing something. We need to get to the hospital and talk to those two guys Meg left alive."

Dean snapped his fingers. Dammit his brain wasn't tracking as fast as it should be. Even though the alcohol was processing out of his system, he was still too slow. That's why he wanted to talk to Meg. She left two men alive, and he wanted to know why. And he wanted to know what those two men knew. And he wanted to know why Roman tried to have her killed.   

"I want to see Adam," Bobby told them both. "I'm not taking no for an answer, just for a minute."

Dean sighed. "Gimme a minute."

He turned and walked a few paces away from the car and called Cas' phone.

"Dean!" Cas answered

"How are you?" Dean asked him.

"We're fine, Dean. We're all just lying here watching Netflix and rotating ice on Meg's sprains."

"I hate ice!" Meg yelled into the phone. "It's fucking cold."

Dean smiled, "you and Adam not keeping our girl warm enough, Cas?"

Cas lowered his voice and Dean heard the sheets rustle, "I'm going to the kitchen so I can talk to Dean about you two in private." Dean heard laughter from Meg and Adam in the background.

"They're fine, Dean. We're fine here. Just focus on your job."

Dean sighed. "I wish I could, babe. Things aren't connecting the way they should be."

Cas let the silence grow. There really wasn't anything to say.

"I need a favor, babe."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Bobby wants to see Adam. Just for a minute. And I need to talk to Meg to see if whatever happened between her and Roman tonight gives her any insight into where he might be headed or what he might do next. And, if I can't find Roman, things get rockier for Adam, so I need to bring Sam into this tonight."

Cas thought about that for a moment. "OK, Dean. So, basically, what you need is the formal dining room so you can sit down with Adam, Meg, Bobby, Jo, Sam and Jess."

"And you, babe."

"And me."

"Yeah, that sounds right. But Bobby won't stay long, and then we'll leave you, Sam and Jess to strategize with Adam while Meg, Jo and I talk at the other end of the table."

"OK. So, would it help if I called Sam and Jess and asked them to come here while you bring Jo and Bobby?"

"I think that would be best. Oh, and Bobby is bringing a Police Aide, MK Stevens is her name, with him. I asked her to sit on him and keep him out of trouble and get him whatever help he needs."

"Hm." Cas thought for a moment. "So, she'll need on the house network. So she can screen cast to the big screens."

"Yeah, that sounds right."

"Anything else, Dean?"

"Anything else? I just asked you to hold a crime summit in your dining room, babe."

"Our dining room, Dean. Ours."

"Who are you, even?" Dean asked in a kind of wonder.

"Your partner. Do you want to talk to Meg or Adam for a minute?"

"Nah. I'm happy to just hear your voice. I know you're taking good care of them."

"Maybe when all of this is over, you'll let me take care of you a little bit?"

"I might, babe. I just might." 

"Sap. I'm going to call your brother and sister."

"OK. I've got a few things to do here, and then we'll be over. Love you." And Dean clicked off the call and walked back over to his little group.

"So, here's what we're going to do, guys," Dean told them. "We're going to split up in two cars. Jo is going to drive Bobby in her car and MK is going to drive me in hers. We're going to meet up at the lobby of my place downtown. I'll take us up together. Bobby can talk to Adam for a couple of minutes, then MK will take Bobby back to the shop. Jo and I will finish up with Meg and head over to the hospital to talk to the two guys Meg cut up but left alive. Jo and I will call in to Bobby and MK every time we change locations. Let's tentatively call a breakfast task force meeting at 7AM. Clear?"

"I got a better idea," Bobby growled.

 Everyone turned to the boss, "yeah?" Dean asked.

"How's about you drive me in my car and Jo drives MK in her car, and you can talk to me a little more about all the things you're avoiding telling me about?"

Dean looked down at his feet and then shrugged, "sure, Bobby."

"I don't think that's a great idea," Jo interjected. MK's eyebrows climbed into her bangs.

Jo forged ahead, "I think MK should go with Dean because he's the one who knows what's in all the files, the file structures, the index words on the reports, all of it. If she's going to be support staff on this thing, she needs to know all that."

Bobby and Dean stared at each other as MK kept her silence.  And then Dean turned to MK, "how good are you at paperwork?"

"I'm a double major in informatics and accounting, sir," she told him. Then it was Dean raising his eyebrows. MK shrugged, "I want to go into data forensics."

"When do you graduate?" Bobby asked her.

"Spring," she told him. 

"OK," Dean said. "You're going to be fine. It's not complicated -- I'm sure you can pick it up on the fly. I'll drive Bobby, you ride with Jo. Can we go now?"

"Wait, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean saw the concern cross Bobby's normally gruff face.

"Does he need anything? ... I can stop for food or something?" Dean hid at smile at Bobby's food logic. He might not be always great at talking, but no boy ever went hungry with Bobby around.

"Nah, Bobby. We've got everything he needs at my place." Bobby studied Dean's face for a moment and then nodded and opened the door and slid into the passenger side of Jo's car. He passed his keys out the window to Jo who gave her keys to Dean. Who walked around and got into the driver's seat. While MK took the keys from Jo, who pointed her off to Bobby's car. Dean snorted. They'd spent like 15 minutes just deciding who was going to drive.  Clearly getting everyone together at the table was a *great* idea.

What could possibly go wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks up from writing chair* *waves* *gets back to work* xoxo


	33. We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CN: violence, torture, gore (note the updated tags)
> 
> Meg gives Jo and Dean another lead. Everyone gets together in the loft, and Cas meets Bobby. The first meeting of the in-laws never comes off smoothly, does it? Decisions are made, plans are formulated, and actions are taken. 
> 
> And then it all goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved co-writing this chapter with sarcasticbones. It's not just that it's fun and creative, but it also feels so subversive compared to my training and education. We're not the Great Western Male Writer sitting alone in his room with his books and his ego and his quill (while his wife and his housekeeper do the heavy lifting of adulting, thankyouverymuch). We're a couple of genderbendy, snarky witches curled up in our dark corner of the interwebs and whispering about how we want to fuck with our characters next. Sometimes there's dancing. And wine. And many, many gifs. 
> 
> Much love to sarcasticbones, and go hug your people today.

 

 

Sam and Jess lay sprawled on their sofa snuggling and watching MST3K. Well, Sam was watching, and Jess was snoring softly in his arms. He'd put a few drops of ylang ylang into the essential oils diffuser thing the guy at the yoga shop had recommended when Sam had been in a couple of weeks ago looking for ways to help Jess relax. Best $49.99 he'd ever spent, because 15 minutes after turning the thing on, Jess was zonked out -- every time.  She looked impossibly soft tucked tight against his chest, long blonde curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a loose cotton Disney princess tee and underpants, no makeup. Plush pink lips slightly open, she sighed softly in her sleep and cuddled in making his heart literally ache from fullness. He really was living beneath a charmed star. 

 

Sam’s phone buzzed on the end table. Text message from unknown number. Eh. He was comfy and Jess was sleeping and everything was perfect. No need to bobble a perfectly cozy situation for a Nigerian prince or tax evasion advice or some other phone scam. Sam stretched one long arm out to toggle his phone to “do not disturb,” which had the fortuitous effect of pulling Jess further into his arms. She smelled like turkish delight and sunlight. He clicked the lamp off, buried his nose in her hair and returned to his movie.

 

***

 

Cas frowned at his phone. Sam hadn’t replied, hadn’t even read his message. Solo twined around his legs as he stood in the kitchen staring absently in thought. He sent another quick message and nodded as his phone blinked. Padding in on bare feet, Adam asked quietly, “what’s up?” 

 

“Hmm? Nothing,” Cas told him.

 

Adam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, nothing. My brother always calls about nothing. He’s like that. Chatty guy. All the telephone nothings. Everyone says that about him.”

Cas huffed. “OK. Fine. I’ve invited Sam and Jess over because Dean asked me to. Dean and Jo are coming here soon because they’ve got a couple of questions about what happened with Meg tonight. Bobby insisted on seeing you, and Dean says he will allow it for a few minutes. But we are *not* to talk to Bobby about Roman, the case, or anything we’ve been doing since Dean brought you here.”

 

Adam snorted. Literally. “Oh, that’s going to be fun. ‘Hi, Bobby. How’s the weather? Wait we can’t talk about that since weather has happened since I got to Dean’s boyfriend’s house.”

 

“My and Dean’s house.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“This is Dean’s house, Adam.”

 

“Dean’s lived here, what, like a day? Two?” Adam sniped. “Your bed, shower and kitchen. I heard him.” 

 

Cas just leaned against the counter, watching him.

 

Adam squirmed. “Doesn’t even know there’s other bedrooms and bathrooms.”

 

Without taking his eyes off Adam, Cas leaned back and pressed the start button on the coffee grinder/maker. 

 

“Couldn’t find the linen closet without help,” Adam snarked.

 

Cas leaned back on his elbows on the counter.

 

“Dick didn’t even know you grow herbs out on your patio.”

 

Cas just kept looking at him, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Adam squirmed again. “He’s an idiot.”

 

Cas’ small smile grew into a full on chuckle.  Adam blushed. “Jesus, I hate you.”

 

And then he was chuckling with Cas who closed the space between them and threw an arm over Adam’s shoulders. “It’s going to be OK, Adam. Bobby just wants to get a look at you, make sure you’re fine. Dean told him you’re safe here, but he’s worried. It’s good to have people to worry about you.”

 

Adam looked at his feet, cheeks tinged pink. 

 

“Come on, they’ll be here in a few minutes and if I’m going to meet my boyfriend’s father figure, I’m at least going to put on a shirt.”

 

“Dunno, Cas. All Dean’s teeth marks on you …”.

 

“Don’t finish that sentence if you intend to borrow a clean shirt...”

 

“Nervous, Cas?” Adam teased.

 

“Just shut up. Sweet goddesses, I’m glad I never had a baby brother.”

 

“Awwww, you like me.”

 

And Cas grabbed Adam and muffed his hair as they pushed and shoved their way to Cas’ closet for some non-bed-sharing clothes.

 

***

The loft door opened and Charlie bounced in with an armload of clothes shouting, “what’s the haps, bitches?!”

 

“Charlie!?” Meg called. “Back here, hon!”

 

“Hey, Meg! Holy bats and cats, Cas wasn’t kidding! You look like a train hit you!”

 

Meg waved her off as Charlie hopped onto the bed and started fussing, “whatcha’ got there, Red?” Meg asked pawing through the pile Charlie tossed onto the bed.

 

“Oh! Cas said you were about to have company, so I brought you some comfy clothes to pull on so you don’t have to meet Dean’s Bobby and sibling units in your underpants.”

 

“Hey, thanks. I figured I’d just borrow some of Cas’ pj pants and roll them up.”

 

“Well, sure, if you want to look like a child playing dress up.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Never a good look. This is cute!” Meg said sifting through the pile and finding a sleeveless, pullover, candy striped, jersey dress.

 

“Yeah, I also brought you a cardi, a shrug, and a pullover sweater if you wanted it.”

 

“Red, I haven’t worn a cardi since I was at parochial school.”

 

“Did someone say Catholic schoolgirl?” Cas asked, conversationally as he and Adam wandered over, dressed in jeans and cotton button downs.

 

Adam’s eyebrows rose at the pretty red-haired woman chatting comfortably with Meg while examining the injuries to one of her arms. 

 

“So, we’re meeting the family?” Meg asked, pulling her hair off her face and wrapping it with a hair tie from Charlie’s pile of stuffs.

 

“Just Sam and Jess,” Adam told her. “Oh, and Bobby. But not Ellen. Ellen is another thing entirely.” And he shuddered. Meg and Cas exchanged nervous glances. Charlie smirked, “so far, this is very fun for me.”

 

Adam gestured in Charlie’s direction. “Like, I get that you all have this shared-bed thing I don’t understand,” Adam said, “but who exactly are you?”

 

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Cas said, hurriedly. He rubbed his left eye with his hand and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Adam, this is our dear friend, Charlie. Charlie, this is Adam, who we’ve been telling you about. I called her over.”

 

“Hi, Adam! I’m the moral support!” Charlie said brightly. 

 

“Hey,” Adam returned her greeting a little hesitantly. “I feel like I’m at the disadvantage here because no one,” and he eyeballed Cas meaningfully, “has told me anything about you.”

 

“It’s ok,” Charlie told him, hopping out of the bed and tugging him by the arm. “We’re about to have six more people in here in a minute, so let’s go make some sandwiches.”

 

“Um, ok?” Adam said allowing himself to be pulled along in the much smaller woman’s wake.

 

“Awww,” Meg said watching them retreat. “It’s so cute seeing the kids getting along.”

 

“Come here,” Cas told her gently pulling her up on her feet. “Let me help you get this dress over your bandages.”

 

***

 

Bobby let Dean drive silently for a few minutes, the tension between them filling the vehicle and leaving Dean with a choking feeling in his throat. He cracked the window to let in some fresh air, but it didn’t help. Finally, Dean cracked.

 

“I got him back, Bobby. He’s safe at my place.”

 

Bobby said nothing, just rolled his window down a bit as well. 

 

The silence resumed between the two men, Bobby watching the passing urban landscape lit with fuzzy solar streetlights, until, finally he spoke, “I appreciate that. But I know that I told you, I ordered you, to keep me in the loop.”

 

Dean swallowed. Yep. Fuck. “I couldn’t, sir. I needed to find a way to keep Adam out of jail if I could. So I needed to chase a deal with a prosecutor. And, you know I couldn’t do that with you involved. Everyone knows you’re my mentor, and that’s one thing, but Adam’s legally your family. That’s a whole other ball of tape.”

 

Bobby sighed. “One, don’t try that ‘sir’ bullshit with me, and two, what did I tell you about family, son?”

 

“About a thousand things, sir.” Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair (this was going great so far... ugh) and then returned them to the steering wheel. 

 

Bobby shifted in his seat and settled his heavy gaze on Dean who suddenly felt like his sixteen year old self getting busted for smoking pot and stargazing on the roof.

 

“And, pray tell,  _ why _ are there four dead bodies back there, Detective.”

 

“My informant, sir. Meg Masters. The woman in the club pictures. She’s, um, a professional. I don’t know the details yet, that’s one thing I’m going to find out, but she was a security contractor for Roman until at some point today, he turned on her. I’m not sure why she was restrained in that garage, but she cut her way out and got to me to let me know Roman was on the move.”

 

“And she’s at your house with my boy?”

 

“Yes, sir. With building security. Some uniforms. Nothing’s going to happen to Adam.”

 

“Dean, you’re saying there’s a professional killer sitting on my son. One who just dropped four bodies. Because, when you said she cut her way out, that was literal. I saw the blood. And she sitting on my son.”

 

Dean’s thoughts raced through that. He’d told Bobby he was working a lead and that there was an informant, but that was it, right? Bobby had a damned fine investigative mind, and he was better at putting things together than anyone else Dean knew, but Dean still had to keep Bobby on the sidelines. Which sucked. Because, like benching your starting quarterback was utterly stupid. But juries don’t like gray areas. Still, he had to give Bobby something. The man had done a lot for Dean. He took a deep breath.

 

“Meg would have pulled out as soon as she realized Roman was corrupt. In fact, her employer warned her to keep her eyes open going into this job. She came to me with her suspicions about Roman, and they matched up with the break ins. She identified Adam as working for Roman from my photograph. And that was enough. She could have gotten on a plane and flown off to her next gig. But she stayed on to help me build the case. She helped me get Adam out. She  _ helped.  _ And the first thing she did tonight, while she was still bleeding, was come to me to warn me. Bobby. I trust her.”

 

“She’s the one in the photos?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And all that was some kind of undercover deal?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And you know her how?”

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat and stared at the road. I mean, he wasn’t shy, but...

 

Bobby snorted, “I don’t need all the gory details.”

 

Dean nodded. “She’s a friend. Cas, my boyfriend, introduced us. I, um, slept with her once, and, she put me onto Roman, um, over breakfast the next morning. Then, I set things up with Deputy Chief Richardson. Filled out and filed the informant paperwork with Meg.” 

 

“You made the lady breakfast?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Bobby grunted in approval. At teachable Dean Winchester.

 

They paused at the stoplight and Dean turned to look at Bobby who raised one eyebrow at Dean. “You’ve had a busy week, son.”

 

Dean snickered, a little giddy and a little bitter. Jesus Christ it felt like a year. And all at once, the tiredness hit him. He sighed and leaned forward on the steering wheel, stretching his back and feeling the vertebrae pop back into alignment. He needed another one of Cas’ massages. 

 

“You gonna bring that boyfriend of yours around for dinner when this is done.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Bobby grunted and mumbled something that sounded like “family.. blood … idjit.”

 

***

Dean pulled into the garage and took Bobby up in the elevator to the lobby. Two uniforms had made themselves comfortable in the club chairs there, while the night security guy watched his monitors. They stood when Bobby and Dean stepped off the elevator.

 

“Winchester,” they nodded at Dean. He looked them over, not recognizing them. “I’m Ramirez and this is Courtney,” the shorter one told him.

 

“This is my lieutenant, Bobby Singer,” Dean told them. They nodded their greetings to Bobby who yanked his head in a gesture at the gang enforcement unit patches on their shirts. “Don’t you boys usually turn out in tee shirts and cargo pants?” 

 

“Yessir, but our sarge said your deputy chief wanted something with a little more professional spin on visibility.”

 

Dean thought about that for a moment because in their muscle bound, paramilitary getup, the GEU was plenty visible. That was the whole point of them. That, and they worked in small teams embedded in neighborhoods. So where were the rest of this team? He quirked an eyebrow, and the tall, blond Courtney answered him, “Mack and Nguyen are up on the 14th.”

 

Jo walked in with MK, the later of whom walked over and shook hands with the uniforms who smiled widely and greeted her like friends. Dean looked at Jo who mouthed, “later,” at him. Dean waved his group into the elevator and nodded at the security guard who pushed the button that let them access the 14th floor.

 

Jo and MK were talking between themselves about updates coming in from the hospital, but Dean let their voices fade into the background as he studied Bobby who had his hands folded behind his back and was staring at his feet.  Dean cleared his throat to speak, but Bobby shut him down with a dark look. The door opened and two 20-something uniforms loomed in front of them. Introductions were exchanged, and Dean punched in the combination and opened the door to his and Cas’ home. “Cas? Sam?” Dean called, leading his entourage into his entryway, dropping his jacket onto the coat rack and gesturing to the others to do the same. 

 

Cas crossed the room to meet him, pulling him into a brief hug and then stepping back. Charlie was at his elbow. She smiled and gave Jo a little wave, having met her at the coffee shop. “You must be MK,” she said to the tall, young woman in front of her. “I’m Charlie. Moral and tech support. Come with me, and I’ll help you get up and running on the network.”

 

MK looked to Dean who nodded at her to follow Charlie, and not at all surprised to find her here, “hey, Charlie.”

 

“There’s coffee, Dean,” Charlie told him as she pulled MK toward the dining-impromptu-conference-table. “Oh! Coffee!” Jo chirped and she grabbed her backpack and followed Charlie and MK further into the loft, leaving Dean standing with Bobby and Cas.

 

“Lieutenant Bobby Singer, this is my boyfriend, Castiel Novak. Cas, this is Bobby.”

 

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” Cas said with shaky confidence, extending his hand to Bobby. For his part, Bobby studied Cas’ face for a moment, coming to some kind of decision there, and taking Cas’ hand in return. “It’s good to meet you too, son. Thank you for looking out for my boys.”

 

“It’s no trouble at all, Mr Singer. I’m happy to know them.”

 

“Call me Bobby.”

 

“OK, Bobby. Thank you. I thought you might like a minute alone with Adam, so I suggested he meet you in his room. If you’ll come with me?”

 

“Cas…” Dean began.

 

But Cas just pushed one hand gently against Dean’s chest. “Just give them a minute, Dean.”

 

“We can’t leave them alone. They might …”

 

“Dean,” Cas said quietly but firmly. “I’ll be with them.”

 

“If you’re a witness, Cas, you might have to testify.”

 

Cas just looked at Dean and then spread his hands and arms in a gesture encompassing the bar set with platters of sandwiches, coffee, and serving utensils, the people milling around the dining table, Meg stretched carefully in a chair with her feet up near the table, and shrugged.

 

Dean huffed in frustration. “OK. Point taken.” And then he turned to Bobby, “just for a couple of minutes, Bobby. And don’t ask him about the case. And don’t tell him anything I told you. Don’t compare notes.”

 

Bobby just rolled his eyes and growled at Dean, and then turned to Cas impatiently, who gestured him through the door and down the hallway toward Adam’s room.

 

Dean stopped at the counter to fill a mug of coffee and studied the room in front of him. MK and Charlie had their heads together and were banging away at a laptop and poking the screen of a tablet as they studied the widescreen tv mounted to the wall above the floating fireplace. Jo was sitting on the arm of Meg’s chair and their heads were together in quiet conversation. Guess that was one introduction he didn’t need to make. The swelling was down in Meg’s eye but the bruising was really starting to come in, and it pissed him off all over again. And where the fuck was Sam? 

 

“Does anyone know where my fucking brother is?” Dean asked the room.

 

“Cas texted him before he texted me,” Charlie told him not raising her head from whatever she and MK were working on. “Cas said he didn’t read the text.”

 

“Asshole,” Dean snapped pulling his phone out of his pocket.

 

“Dean!” Meg called, waving him over to where she and Jo were talking.

 

“In a sec, Meg,” Dean shot back typing on his phone.

 

“NOW, Dean!” Meg shouted with her, ‘I am not playing, fuckface’ voice.

 

Dean didn’t like anyone telling him what to do, but the look on her and Jo’s faces gave him pause. Meg looked worried. And that was new.

 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked over to her chair, sitting next to her feet on the ottoman. “What’s going on?”

 

“Don’t call Sam,” she told him.

 

“Why not? Sam can help Adam, and I’d really like my Dr Sister-In-Law to get a look at you.” He squeezed her foot gently.

 

Meg yanked her head at Jo, and Dean realized Jo had a tablet in her hands and had been video recording whatever she and Meg were saying. Jo shut the camera down and passed the tablet to Meg who nodded her thanks and turned back to Dean. “Because this night isn’t over yet, Dean. And before it’s all over, I feel like you and I, and maybe Jo here, are going to get a little dirty. Do you want your brother around for those conversations?”

 

“But we’re going to have them in front of Cas?” Dean wasn’t snarking, he was just trying to suss the whole thing out.

 

She shook her head from side to side like she was trying to put the words together, “Cas knows me. I’ve earned some latitude with him. And I know you.” 

 

Jo nodded once in agreement. “Meg here has told me something interesting that you need to hear.”

 

He looked at her.  “What happened out there, Meg?”

 

She took a sip of water and set the glass down on the occasional table. She’d been hanging around with Roman all day as people had come and gone. She’d been sitting off to one side, reading a book on her Kindle, and he’d been taking calls and sending sketchy people off on shadowy errands. Then, the guy who had been working with Adam on the break-ins came in looking a little frustrated. There was blood on his sleeve and his jeans.

 

She’d eavesdropped and got the gist that he’d had a coercive conversation with Dean and Adam’s Uber driver. Who didn’t know anything, obviously, but where he’d dropped Dean off. He’d asked the driver if Dean and Adam had fooled around in the car because Winchester was an exhibitionist, and the driver said they held hands, sweet-like. Which had pissed him off because that was just stupid. So he killed him and stuffed him in the trunk of his own car (for calling Adam and Dean sweet! These macho morons!) and left the car in the parking garage at the baseball stadium. And then he tried to break into Dean’s place but there was security at the front desk who had noticed the blood and offered to call for help. And he didn’t think he could kill the guy at the front desk of Dean’s building, so he came back to Roman with nothing. And it fucking sucked.

 

At which point, Meg had laughed. They hadn’t realized she was listening. But like, these dumb fucks. Seriously. She was literally trapped in a B-thriller with these stupid-ass bad guys who blundered around killing people, smashing things, and peacocking like that was going to get them what they wanted. When Roman asked her if she had something to say about it, that was pretty much what she’d told him. (She  _ might _ have added something about muscleheads, small dicks, and steroids. She wasn’t sure. She had a concussion, afterall. Dean rolled his eyes and Jo snorted.)  And she’d gotten up to walk out. And tough guy tried to block her path, and she broke his nose on her way out the door. But then some asshole in the front yard had taken a flat head shovel from the landscaper and smashed her in the head with it. Then turned and started beating the landscaper with it. She blacked out thinking about the utter lack of professionalism of Roman’s people. 

 

When she woke up, it was because someone was splashing freezing vodka in her face. She was tied to a chair surrounded by four Hired Muscle assholes. One punched her in the face a couple of times and made some bullshit threats about needing to keep her alive until Roman came back and questioned her, but after that they would cut her up and eat her or whatever other James Bond villain nonsense. It was stupid. She’d laughed again and spit blood at them. Then she’d dropped the thin stiletto from her sleeve and cut her way through the ropes. They’d left her feet free because they were fucking morons. Seriously.

 

She’d fought her way through them with the help of her stiletto (she’d lost that beneath the tool chests against the wall, could Dean get that back for her, pretty please?) and her combat knife, which, “I know that thing is evidence now, but I’m putting a replacement on my Christmas list, Winchester.” He leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss on top of her head and whispered “anything,” in her ear. Which made Jo grin like an idiot, and then Dean rolled his eyes, and Jo told him they were going to stick that way. 

 

Anyway, she’d fought her way through it, but the last Hired Muscle had given her some trouble. Which was why she left her combat knife in his eye. She’d spent most of her energies getting him down. So, she’d just rolled off of his corpse and took a moment to catch her breath and check her kills. All dead. She knew she had to get to Dean. So, she’d grabbed the keys for the Range Rover parked out front off the key rack, and drove to Cas’ place with the windows down and the air conditioning on, stereo blasting, hoping to stay conscious.

 

Dean interrupted her suddenly remembering the state she’d been in, “holy shit, how did you make it up to our place looking like that? I didn’t even think to ask.”

 

“I told Devon at the desk it was my zombie Halloween costume.” 

 

“And he believed that?” Dean was incredulous.

 

Meg just smirked at him. “Goddess knows what he believes, but he’s seen enough weird shit from you, me, and Cas to not ask a lot of questions.”

 

Dean chuckled. And then he got it. Holy fuck.

 

“So, wait. You killed four and left? There was no one else? So, then who the hell are those other two guys at the scene? The ones who are alive?”

 

“That’s what we’ve been talking about,” Jo interjected. “Where did those two guys come from? Who are they? Why are they there?”

 

“Huh.” Dean thought for a second. “Well, they’re at the hospital, right? Did MK get an update from the ER?”

 

“Yes,” Jo told him, taking her tablet back from Meg and pulling up her notes. “They’re stable. Stitches and xrays. It looked bad, but the trauma team sorted them out. They’re on lockdown in their rooms and there’s cops on the doors.”

 

Dean whistled low, impressed. “Thank MK,” Jo told him, “she’s efficient with the paperworking and phone calling.”

 

Over his left shoulder, Dean noticed the dining table now had Cas, Bobby, Adam, Charlie, and MK. He walked over to them and pulled out a chair and sat in it, picking some sliced apple from Cas’ plate.

 

Jo helped Meg to the table, and Adam hopped up to pour her a mug of coffee. He settled into the chair next to hers. Bobby was at the head of the table. “What’s the plan, Dean?” Bobby asked.

 

“Bobby …”

 

“Don’t start with me, kid. I called Anita, and she’s already so pissed at me, she’s screaming about suspension, grand juries and throwing me in jail. You think you scare me?”

 

“Dad,” Adam whispered softly, looking down the table at Bobby.

 

Bobby just stared Dean down. No one breathed.

 

“Fine,” Dean’s tone was clipped. “Meg killed four men in her escape. She didn’t leave those two men alive at the scene, someone else did that after she got away. Jo and I are going to follow that lead.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Bobby told the table holding up both his hands.

 

Everyone froze again giving the older man his moment to think. “Yeah, I want Adam out of here. I want Adam nowhere near this.”

 

“I agree with that,” Meg said, nodding her head at Bobby. “Adam, why don’t you and I grab a couple of these sandwiches, some guac, and some beers and go back to your room and watch ‘Cruel Intentions’ on Netflix.” He nodded his head at her and slid his chair back to rise.

 

“Sit your ass back down, boy,” Bobby snapped. Confusion passed over Adam’s face and he sat back into his chair.

 

“Bobby?” Dean asked him.

 

“I meant, I want Adam out of here. I want him in an official Phoenix PD safehouse. I already mentioned it to Anita, and she told me you have whatever resources you need at your disposal, so I should put that request to you. Well, I’m not asking, Dean. Move Adam to a safehouse tonight.”

 

“I’m totally safe here, Dad.”

 

“No, you’re not!” Bobby huffed.

 

Jo rolled her eyes, why was she always the mediator? Just once, Jo wanted to flip her shit and have one of these assholes sort it out for her. “Bobby, short of an armed, tactical assault, no one is getting up here. And maybe not even then. He’s fine here.”

 

Adam nodded in agreement. “It’s good. And besides, I’m here taking care of Meg and Cas for Dean.”

 

“What the fuck do you meaning taking care of Meg and Cas for Dean!?” Bobby snapped and smacked both hands on the table. Adam flinched. Meg’s eyes narrowed, Cas folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, and Dean’s chin jutted out. Nope. Jo was not touching this one. 

Charlie got up for the coffee carafe and brought it back to begin topping off mugs. MK suddenly decided everyone needed water refills too. Jo wondered if those women needed any help with their not being at the table in the middle of this bullshit.

 

Dean glared at Bobby. “I  _ asked _ him to stay with Cas and Meg because if they’re all looking out for each other, then I’m not worrying about them.”

 

“Well, all due concern for your lovelife, boy, I’m only thinking about who is looking out for Adam.”

 

“Jesus, Bobby! I’ve done everything to take care of Adam …” Dean snapped.

 

“From where I’m sitting, you’ve got him holed up in your boyfriend’s fuckpad with an assassin and an endless supply of ...” Bobby interrupted with a snarl.

 

“Bite me, old man!” Meg shouted in her business voice. “I am trying to help here, I am not a fucktoy thankyouverymuch, and …”

 

Suddenly, Cas stood up and shoved his chair back hard, sending it skidding across the wood floor. The table fell silent.

 

Cas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dean reached for him, but Cas held up one hand and said, “no, I’m counting.” 

 

Dean nodded. Then he walked over to collect the fallen chair, carried it back over to the table and returned it to its place behind Cas. Then Dean resumed his seat at the table.

 

When Cas reached whatever number he was counting toward, he opened his eyes and sat back down in his chair, turning to Dean and thanking him softly. Then Cas spoke: “Mr Singer, I told Adam he was welcome here in our home as long as he liked. Our home is built on mutual respect for individuals and their autonomy. If Adam chooses to leave, of course I will respect his decision. As I respect Meg and Dean’s choices and they respect mine. And if you cannot comply with this simple ethos, then I respectfully ask you to leave our home.”

 

Bobby’s eyes hardened and he drew in a breath to respond, but then Meg snorted. 

 

Cas rolled his eyes at her, and she muttered, “I was getting to all that respect stuff.” 

 

“Sure you were, Reactionary McShoutypants,” Dean told her. 

 

Cas snickered. Meg threw a baby carrot at him, and Dean caught it and threw it in his mouth. Adam giggled and ducked as a baby carrot came at his head. It bounced off MK and landed on the floor. She picked it up and popped it into her mouth with a flourish. Charlie laughed out loud. 

 

“Goddammit,” Bobby muttered as the mood in the room lightened and shifted.

 

Dean came to a decision. “Bobby,” Dean told him reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet then fishing out a Visa credit card. “This is the card the deputy chief gave me -- there’s a number on the back for making arrangements. They’ll know from the account number and name on the card what to do.”

 

Bobby took the card, and then Dean turned to Adam. “Go where your dad tells you. Just tell us you’ll come back here when this is all over. There’s still all those meals you promised to cook us.”

 

“OK, Dean,” Adam said quietly. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

“Bobby?” Dean said again.

 

“Yeah?” Bobby asked meeting his gaze across the table.

 

“Take MK here back to the cop shop and start figuring out what we do next after Jo and I bring in Roman.”

 

“What are the rest of you going to do?” Bobby asked, fidgeting with the card in his fingers.

 

“That’s not for you to hear, boss. Take MK and the kid, and go.” Dean said, not unkindly.

 

Bobby looked around the table at Jo, Charlie, Meg, Cas, and Dean. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, and then he closed it again with a snap. He nodded at Castiel, then he turned to Adam, “come on, son. MK, you driving?”

 

“Yes, sir,” MK answered and followed the lieutenant and Adam out of the loft without looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll check in with you in a bit, MK,” Jo called after her.

 

The door to the loft closed and a sigh of relief passed around the table. 

 

“That was hot, Cas,” Dean told his boyfriend with a hungry smile.

 

“So hot,” Meg agreed. 

 

Cas just put his hands over his face and shook his head.

 

“OK,” Dean said, “Jo and I are heading over to the hospital to question the guys from the house. We’ve got them locked down and under protection because right now, besides Meg, they’re the only other witnesses we’ve got.”

 

“Dean,” Meg said thoughtfully, “I’m not sure what’s going on there. Why dump two live bodies on top of my four dead ones?”

 

“Maybe they weren't meant to survive. Maybe more of that ‘unprofessionalism’ played in our favor?” Dean mused.

 

“This reminds me of the human traffickers,” Jo told Meg. “How they mix the bodies from different scenes together because they figure it will all get attributed to one doer.”

 

“OK,” Meg agreed. “So, then, at some point today, we’re thinking that Roman or his minions were pissed at more people than just the Uber driver, and they weren’t as efficient as the guy whose nose I broke?”

 

Dean thought about that for a minute. “Um. MK said they’d been identified from prints, but their names didn’t sound familiar. That doesn’t mean Meg, Adam or I haven’t crossed their paths. There were valets at the benefit, various servers at the club, some security people at the venue. I tried to keep this tight, but we’ve been in contact with a lot of people and Roman’s people, according to you Meg, are kind of indiscriminate when it comes to doing their own investigations and interrogations.”

 

Cas interrupted, “but could it be a setup? Could they be trying to lure Adam out to the hospital?”

 

Jo nodded. “I suppose it  _ could _ be a setup. But if it is, and I think that’s a really small chance, then it’s for you,” she nodded at Meg. “Dean and I are fine. We’re the law. Badass detectives with guns and badges and shit.”

 

“Meg?” Cas asked.

 

She cocked her head at him and thought for a moment, “sure, I guess it could be for me. But that doesn’t make it safe. I mean, those guys are dumbasses, but there are a lot of them, and there are innocents in play at a hospital.”

 

“So, what are the other options?” Cas asked her.

 

“Hey! Jo and I are going to question these guys because it is our job. There are no other ‘options’ in a criminal investigation. Just procedure.”

 

Meg smirked, “also hot.”

 

Charlie raised her hand and Jo gave her an eyeroll. Everyone’s eyes were going to stick that way. So Charlie spoke up, “ok, well, this is a normal thing you all do, right? Interview witnesses at hospitals. So, like you say, there’s a procedure for this, right?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yes. There are uniforms already on the room. We put another unit on the entrance and we notify hospital security. We do it all the time.”

 

“See?” Charlie told Cas. “They do this all the time. And I just got Jo’s number, and she’s going to text us with regular updates, right?” Charlie looked at Jo hopefully.

 

“Sure thing,” Jo nodded. “It’s all routine.”

 

Cas nodded.

 

“See?” Charlie chirped again, “moral and technical support!”

 

Meg gave her a smirk, “and fashion stylist.”

 

Dean squeezed Cas’ hand. “Charlie, can you stay here with Meg and Cas?”

 

“Sure!” Charlie said happily. “Slumber party!”

 

“Dean, I love Charlie, but Meg and I are fine here. When Sam didn’t answer, I texted her to bring some clothes for Meg, and I know she had plans to go out after,” Cas looked at Charlie significantly.

 

“Hey! I can meet up with Hannah another night,” Charlie told them. “I think someone said something about ‘Cruel Intentions’?”

 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean told her with a warm smile. “Cas, I know you and Meg can take care of yourselves, well, Meg can probably take care of all of us. But I’d just feel better if you were all together. Please?”

 

“Fine,” Cas conceded. “But after ‘Cruel Intentions’ we’re watching ‘Wild Things.’”

 

“Ooh! Then ‘Coyote Ugly’!” Meg added.

 

Jo shook her head. “I’m kinda glad no one has invited me to this slumber party.”

 

“Oh, but you’re coming to the Halloween party, right? Whenever everything settles down, and we get around to having it, that is,” Charlie added looking around the table to Cas, Meg, and Dean.

 

“Yes, I’ll be at this Halloween party, and I’ll even drag my boy along.”

 

Charlie clapped playfully and turned to Meg, “let’s get some wine glasses and get into Cas’ bed. Cas, do you have any pink champagne?”

 

“I should,” Cas told her, “I’ll go look,” and then he stood up and pulled Jo up after him into a tight embrace. “Please look out for yourselves,” he whispered into her hair.

 

“We will,” Jo told him. And then she looked at Dean, “I’ll be outside telling Mack and Nguyen where we’re headed. I’m assuming since Meg is here we still want them on the door?”

 

“Good idea,” Dean told her. And she walked out of the room leaving him alone for a moment with his boyfriend. “Cas,” Dean whispered brushing a thumb over Cas’ lower lip and watching the tremble there. “I … just … thanks for being so cool about my job. You’re the first person I’ve ever been with who was able to roll with it.” And then Dean kissed Cas softly, bumping their foreheads together.

 

“I’m not cool about your job, Dean,” he whispered, holding Dean close. “I like all of you. I value what’s important to you. I want for you what you want for yourself. You’re not your job, but your job matters. So, go do it. Get Roman. Save your brother. And then come home to me.”

 

“I will.”

 

***

 

Dean and Jo rolled up to the hospital and left their car in the loading zone with the police placard on the dash. Handy that. 

 

They stopped at the front desk to check in and were directed up to a room on the second floor, end of the ward, nearest a fire exit. 

 

The uniforms who were supposed to be on the door weren’t at their post, however there were two chairs outside the door. Dean figured they’d gone for coffee, and while they shouldn’t have left, it wasn’t exactly unusual either. The security here was tight, between the hospital security stationed on each floor and the cameras. Plus a whole staff of nurses and doctors. Hospitals are busy places. 

 

Jo said she’d go find the uniforms and left Dean to enter the room alone. There were two beds, both occupied by large men swathed in various bandages and hooked to beeping machines. Their eyes were closed. He did a quick inspection of the room, bathroom empty, closet empty, no personal belongings anywhere.

 

He pulled a chair up between the two beds and turned to find another when he heard Jo shouting his name, “Dean! Dean!” and the pounding of footsteps. She threw the door open, gun drawn and trained on the room, eyes wide. She gasped in relief when she saw him and he drew his gun and moved to her side. “What is it?”

 

“I found the uniforms, knocked out and piled in the stairwell.”

 

“Shit. Call it in. And cover the patients!” Dean shouted as he opened the door and then he took a sucker punch to the face and slammed into a wall. Something sweet. Then nothing.

  
  
  


***

“Wakey wakey, detective,” someone’s poking Dean in the chest with something hard and cold. Circular.  That is the first thing he registers. Gun? Crowbar? A piece of a metal pipe? Dean tries to keep his body from responding, but whoever’s poking him takes a step back and yells: “he’s awake.”

 

The splinters of what happened click back in a disjointed reel - cut up and glued back together in random order. Jo and him at the hospital. The commotion of an attack. A crack to his skull and the sickening sweetness of chloroform. A headache splices behind his still-closed eyes. Fucking chloroform.  Dean yelling at Jo to cover the patients. Because that’s what he thought, that it’s a hit on them, because they’re evidence. But no, Meg was right. It was a trap and it was set for Dean. And he walked right into it like a fucking amateur. 

 

There’s a scraping sound of a heavy door and footsteps on the concrete floor, crunching with broken glass or gravel, or whatever other crap. Dean still hasn’t opened his eyes. His head is killing him, flashing pain in sharp blacks and vivid whites on the backs of his eyelids. He flexes his arms. Handcuffs AND zip ties. His ankles are also shackled, maybe together, maybe to the legs of the hardback chair he’s in. Metal, not wood. No use trying to trash it by falling over. Whoever tied him up is thorough, or paranoid, or afraid of Dean.

 

Perhaps all three. 

 

He might be fucked here.

 

“Detective Winchester,” the owner of the crunchy footsteps says in a mild voice, and Dean finally cracks his eyes open a little. There’s a young man standing in front of him, strong but not obviously so. Head to toe black, but in dress pants. Pasty. Blond. Must be one of Roman’s. In the drugged, bruised mush of Dean’s head, a memory forms of Meg saying something of all of Roman’s people wearing this “uniform” at the club.

“How can I help you?” Dean says in a thick, clumsy voice.

 

The man smiles for a moment. “We are in need of Miss Masters, she seems to have disappeared, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

 

Dean thinks. His head is still throbbing, which makes it harder, but he powers through. There is no way they don’t know where Meg is. It’s not that hard to figure out she’s at Cas’. And while they can’t get to her by any lawful, inconspicuous means, if they’re ready to assault and kidnap an officer of the law, they could get to her. They could get to Cas and they could get to Meg. Stone cold dread spreads in Dean’s gut as he thinks of them getting to Meg and Cas. 

 

“Ah,” the young man says, seeing Dean mull it over. Then he leaves.  

 

“OK,” the owner of the gun / crowbar / pipe says from behind Dean. Dean had forgotten about him.  It’s a much larger, bigger man, Dean sees as the man emerges from his left. Instead of Roman’s sleek black, he wearing army pants and a gray t-shirt. Hired muscle?

 

“They said something about the face,” Hired Muscle says, a ridiculously ham handed attempt at a performance: “can’t remember what though.”

 

He walks around Dean in slow, cliched circles and Dean would roll his eyes if his head didn’t hurt that much. 

 

“Hit him in the face?” Hired Muscle says, poking Dean in the back. “Or don’t hit him in the face?”

 

Hired Muscle pauses, twirls his … ah … yes … piece of pipe. “Bet you get a lot of ass with that pretty face,” he says.

 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Dean agrees. 

 

Hired Muscle pulls his arm back and hits Dean on the shoulder with the pipe. Once, twice, three times. The thick, meaty thumps of his flesh absorbing the impact. Pain explodes slowly and blooms thick and dark in the deep tissues. 

 

“Where was I?” Hired Muscle asks, letting his arm fall. He’s not out of breath. He’s not sweaty. Beating Dean is nothing for him, in terms of physical exertion or adrenaline. 

 

He’s good at what he does. Dean is definitely fucked here. 

 

“At how much ass my pretty face pulls,” Dean says. There’s no point of trying to play this guy. There is no playing him. He’ll beat Dean just as long as he’s been told to beat Dean, so Dean being polite will have no effect. 

 

“Right,” Hired Muscle says, takes a couple of steps to the side and hits Dean flat across the chest, twice. Dean doesn’t breathe for too long. Coughs too wetly when he finally gets his breath back. 

 

“N’ah, fuck it,” Hired Muscle says, lets the pipe clatter down on the concrete. 

 

“Pretty fuckers like you need it in the face, and I like to feel it under my fists,” he’s pulling on a pair of leather gloves. 

 

***

 

Jo nodded at the guy working security and passed the coffees and a bag of donuts off to him, and the two uniforms in the lobby. It was coming up on 3AM after all. She rode the elevator up and passed her remaining two coffees and another bag of donuts off to the unis on the 14th floor. Then, she keyed the combination Dean had given her and let herself into the loft. 

 

She’d lost Dean. She’d gone to the offices to check in with Bobby and MK and give her statement, and then Detective Chief Richardson had stood her down. It wasn’t supposed to be a punishment. A kidnapped cop was a big fucking deal and Anita Richardson was calling in the troops. Jo was told to make herself scarce, to make herself impossible to reach. To answer the phone for nothing and no one until she got a specific text message directly from Anita. Until then, she was supposed to go to Cas and break the news because Anita wanted to do it, but she had her hands full. This is how Jo could help. It wasn’t supposed to be a punishment. But it sure as hell felt like one. 

 

When she walked into the sleeping space of their loft, the tv was blaring and Meg and Charlie were in pajamas in the bed, while Cas was sitting in a club chair next to the bed. Cas stood up as soon as he saw her.

 

“Jo?”

 

She drew a deep breath. 

 

“Jo, what’s wrong?”

 

“Someone took Dean from the hospital. The entire Phoenix PD is awake and on it. We’re going to get him back. But right now, I just needed to see you and tell you myself.”

 

Meg tilted her head and looked at Cas who stood frozen, sort of stuck in a processing loop.

 

“How?” Charlie asked, “no, wait, why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jo told her. She took a step toward Cas, but he raised his hands and she stopped. 

 

“Where is Dean, Jo?” Cas asked her, quiet, dark.

 

“I don’t know, Cas. I didn’t see what happened. I only heard the shout and by the time I got through the door, he was gone and someone was shooting at me. I covered the patients.”

 

“Was anyone else hurt?” Charlie asked softly.

 

Jo breathed out loudly, “yeah. We’ve got two uniforms dead and two in the hospital.”

 

“Ohhh,” Charlie breathed out. “Jo, I’m so sorry.”

 

“We’re dealing with it,” Jo told her, voice clipped, eyes still on Castiel.

 

Meg rose from the bed and started limping toward the door, “I’ve got to get some stuff from my place. Help me, Red?” And Charlie hopped up and followed her without a word.

 

Cas was still standing in the same place, hand stretched out to stop something invisible from advancing. 

 

Jo turned and looked back at the bed. Her eyes scanned the loft and she saw a second chair that matched the one by the bed. She crossed to it and dragged it back to the first one. Then she found a little round table with a large piece of pottery on it. That went on the floor. Fuck rich people and their geegaws. She hauled the little round table over to between the two chairs. Then she walked over to the bar and looked through the bottles until she found a full bottle of whiskey. This one was fancy, something called Braunstein e:4, but it was still Dean’s drink. She grabbed two glasses and hauled them over to set them on the table. Then she went back to Cas.

 

“Cas,” she whispered. 

 

“Shh, I’m counting,” Cas said. So Jo walked back to pour out the whiskey, not a polite two fingers worth, no. She knocked hers back and shuddered.

 

“I’m glad you’re OK,” Cas whispered after Jo had refilled her glass and set it on the table with a clunk.  His voice was distant, and he was looking towards Jo but not at her, really.  She took a tentative step closer, then another one, wrapped Cas in a hug and shuddered again.

 

“You’re cold?” he asked her. And then, distantly, “it’s cold in here.”

 

“We’re in shock,” she told him. He nodded. That was right. This was shock.

 

“Let’s drink,” she said twining her fingers through his and pulling him over to the chairs as Meg and Charlie came back, loaded down with equipment and a couple of messenger bags, and hopped back into the bed.

 

“What’s all that?” Jo asked them.

 

Charlie was arranging pillows and bolsters so that Meg could sit up comfortably in bed with one of the two laptops she’d brought in her lap. Charlie had the other one. There was a pile of folders and files between them. A pad of post-it notes. Some pens. 

 

Charlie opened her mouth to answer Jo, but Meg shot her an icy look. “There’s a .txt file on the desktop. It’s got everything you need.” She passed Charlie a small square device that Charlie pressed into a slot in the side of the machine. Meg pressed her thumbprint on the mousepad and the screen lit up. Charlie started typing.

 

“Meg?” Jo asked.

 

Meg just glared at Jo and booted up her own secure machine. “Party favors. And pour me some of that.”

 

Jo got up to get another glass when Cas turned to Meg who was syncing a headset with a new, heavy black phone and then slipping it onto her ear. She pressed a button and recited a bunch of numbers, and then told the other end of the call that she was sending a file. Cas knocked back his drink and Meg smiled at him darkly, all teeth and claws, as she whispered numbers and profanities into the headset.

Jo brought the drink back and Meg took it, knocked it back and set the empty glass on the night table. Jo stood by the side of the bed, and Meg snapped, “don’t hover,” without looking up from her screen.

 

“I was just going to ask if you needed anything else.”

 

“You aint got nothing I need, Beat Cop Barbie. So just put your feet up and relax.”

 

“Don’t be a bitch, Meg,” Charlie muttered typing away at something at 100 words a minute. 

 

Still talking quietly in one word sentences to someone on the phone, Meg pulled another, identical heavy black phone from under a pile of files and punched something into it. It beeped. She nodded and affirmed this to the person on her call. Then she punched some more numbers in.

 

Charlie typed, glancing between her screen and Meg’s and then making a notation on a file and throwing it into a discard stack at the foot of the bed.

 

From his chair, Cas spoke up. “I want her to be a bitch.”

 

Meg chuckled bitterly.

 

“What?” Charlie asked. 

 

“I,” said Cas, cold and dark, “swear to the fucking goddess, Charlie, that I want Meg in all her violent, bloody, bitchy, stabby glory.”

 

“Cas,” Charlie said, gently.

 

“Don’t.” Cas whispered low and sharp.

 

Jo poured another drink for herself and Cas and passed him his glass. They made eye contact and there was agreement there. They clinked glasses.

 

Charlie looked at Meg who passed her a notepad with scribbles. Charlie read it and nodded and went back to pulling and processing data sets. She wasn’t a cop, and she wasn’t an operative, but no one knew digital information like she did. They’d agreed. Meg would run down the people and Charlie would chase the data. 

  
  
  


***

 

One of Meg’s phones made a weird clicking noise. Jo was passed out in the chair next to him, Charly sleeping at the foot of the bed, but Meg's phone was making an oddly familiar sound that pierced Cas' bubble of forced patience, through his rage held at bay. He couldn’t immediately place it. And Meg was ignoring it, typing furiously on her laptop. 

 

But the phone clicked again. They both realized what it was at the same moment - Cas launching across the room, Meg raising both her hands off the keyboard, looking around wildly. Because that was the Snapchat incoming notification. 

 

And nobody snaps Meg but Cas and Dean. And Cas is here. Meg rapidly shuffled papers and files, pushing crap off the bed. A tablet fell out of a messenger bag with a dull thump. 

 

Cas found the phone first. 

 

One new snap.  One new snap from Dean. 

 

“Give it here,” Meg demanded. 

 

“It’s from Dean.”

 

“It’s my phone, Castiel, give it here right now,” it’s her work voice. Her intimidating voice, full of command and low on life, but Cas didn’t give a shit.

 

He opened the message with shaking fingers, scooting closer, so Meg can see.

 

“Cas,” Meg whispered, wrapping her tiny hand around the phone, still trying to yank it out of Cas’ hands. What does she expect it to be?

 

The noise registered first. Not the images on the screen, but the blunt force of a fist making contact with a cheekbone. Another blow, the same low, fleshy thunk. The third one sounded wetter, catching on the chin. 

 

The blood seeping out of the busted lip was the first visual Cas truly processed. A lip he knows so well. A lip he’d recognize out of a lineup of a thousand. A full, pouty, usually pink lip. He knows how that lip feels under his fingertips, against his tongue. Knows what it usually tastes like. Coffee. Beer. His own lip balm. His cum. And now he’s watching it sliced open under a thick fist, bleeding slowly.    
  


“Cas,” Meg murmured still pulling on the the fucking phone. But it’s Dean. Dean’s absurdly gorgeous face being beaten with a leather gloved fist. One of his brows is busted too, bleeding into the eyelashes of his swollen eye. The cheekbone is mottled in purples and reds.  

 

Cas wrapped an iron fist around Meg’s wrists and squeezed, probably too hard, he shouldn’t. Meg’s hurt. But she needs to stop yanking on that fucking phone. 

 

So much blood. 

 

Clearly what they’re seeing is the end of a beating. The three final blows on a face that’s taken many more. 

 

Someone made a noise. A broken little sob. And Cas doesn’t know who that was. Meg doesn’t sob. Dean doesn’t look like he sobbed. Although he should be sobbing. He should wailing. Was it him? Did Cas sob? 

 

The person beating Dean stepped out of the camera’s line of vision and the person holding the phone took a step back too. Panning the camera up and down Dean’s form, from head to toe. He’s tied to a chair, slumped in a way that makes Cas sure they didn’t only hit him in the face. He’s not making eye contact with the camera. He’s not saying anything. He’s not crying. 

 

His shoulders are hunched and he’s breathing hard. Processing, processing, processing the pain. 

  
“Mr. Winchester is not very cooperative,” a mild, young voice said as Dean breathed in slowly, a small shudder of strain. “Miss Masters needs to come back home, collect her toy before we break it.” 

 

The video cut out. Cas clicked on review. Meg had stopped trying to wrestle the phone out of his hands, but she’s still looking too. So they watched it again. Watched the face they just got used to waking up to absorb the pounding. 

 

Watched it break and bleed. 

  
  


***

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	34. Girls Dont Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about as bad as they can be, and our heroes are scattered and dealing with their own demons. But they're going to have to find the strength to rally, to beat back the darkness. Because Dean, the man who does for everyone else, now needs them to do for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a couple of weeks since the last update. That was an awful lot to leave you all with. Work deadlines flared up my carpal tunnel. And then my mood crashed hard. So, it was a bit of a mess around here. But the silver lining of messes is that they remind who your people are and why you loved them in the first place.
> 
> Speaking of relying on your people, sarcasticbones reached beneath the bed and tugged me out by my scruff. 
> 
> Messy kisses and fluffy kittens to [totallybemused](http://archiveofourown.org/users/totallybemused/profile) for cheering us on.

Adam carried the borrowed duffel bag full of borrowed clothes and shoes into the generic, “business class” hotel room. Two detectives had walked through the door ahead of him, and he and Bobby had trailed behind. MK stayed with the car.

It was a two-room suite, the connecting door between the rooms was standing open. The first detective, Mitchell, told Adam that he had the second room, and Mitchell and his partner, Evans, would stay in the first. Everything was beige, darker beige, tan, and, oooh, off white. Queen sized bed, pressed wood dresser, small writing desk, framed photos of the desert hanging from the walls.  Adam silently followed their instructions and walked through the door of the second room dropping the duffel on the bed. This 100% sucked.

After a tersely whispered conversation with the two detectives, Bobby came through the door and paused, puzzled that Adam was just standing in the middle of the room. Gesturing to the duffle, Bobby spoke softly, “look, kid, you may as well settle in. Even when we get Dean back, you’re going to be here until the indictments come down, at least. Could be longer, depending on the prosecutor’s guidelines.”

“Maybe later,” Adam muttered settling down on the bed and tugging a borrowed fantasy paperback out of one of the side pockets, ignoring the soft thump of the bag’s contents shifting.

“I know you’re not happy,” Bobby began, his gruff voice taking on that authoritarian tone he used with his detective and errant teenagers.

Adam looked up from his book just staring at Bobby, who stopped talking and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

“Dean told me to stay there. He _asked_ me to take care of Cas for him. I said I would.”

“Son, you’re safer…”

Adam threw the book at the duffel bag, knowing he was behaving exactly like the angry kid he was when he’d been dumped on Bobby’s doorstep more than ten years ago. But fuck it, this sucked. “I don’t care!”

“Well, goddammit, I do!” Bobby shouted back at him.

Then Bobby sighed, “I’m worried about him too, kid. I want him back too. We’re going to find him.”

“I know you will. You always get your man, dad. I know you’ll find him. But what I was doing was important to Dean too. I was keeping an eye on his people so he wouldn’t have to worry about them.”

Bobby shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know. Pulling you out of there wasn’t fair to you. But I need you where I won’t worry about you while I get Dean back. I need to be able to concentrate on one kid while I know the others are safe, understand?”

Adam chuckled bitterly, “this caring about people fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“That it does, boy.”

“And you’re sure Cas and Meg will be OK?”

“I’m leaving the uniforms on the doors, at least for now. MK is checking in on them regularly. Safe as houses.”

Adam nodded, “you should go, dad. Go get Dean.”

Bobby gave Adam a tight smile, turned, and walked out the door.

***

There’s a moment, when the slick young blond walks in, typing on his phone, followed by Hired Muscle not wearing gloves, nor twirling a pipe, a bat, or any other kind of blunt force trauma weapon - that Dean is relieved. It’s not a conscious choice. There isn’t thinking or analysis involved. It’s an involuntary twitch somewhere in his hind brain, as it processes the incoming visuals, only scanning for prospects of pain, not paying attention to anything else. And it’s stupid, because it’s that relief that breaks you. It’s the hope. Because there’s a towel carelessly slung over Hired Muscle’s thick shoulder, a rolled up yoga mat under his arm, and he’s carrying a garden sized watering can.

“Hello Mr. Winchester,” the young man says. He’s wearing all black.  Still? Again?  How long has it been? Dean tries to think, but between the chloroform and the beating, it’s kind of hard to tell. Maybe a day and a half? And the beating wasn’t even that bad. He probably has a bruised rib, but he doesn’t think any of the bones in his face are broken. Well maybe fractured … but Hired Muscle beat him with surgeon like precision, oddly fixated on “breaking his pretty face” as the pasty blond filmed. It was almost as if the purpose was the filming and not the beating. Which … what sense does that even make?

There’s something about it all that doesn’t sit right with Dean, doesn't click, doesn't go together. But it’s hard to get his brain to comb through his observations. It’s been doused in external and home-brewed chemistry too many times in too short of a period to really work. Adrenaline, chloroform, more adrenaline, whatever the cocktail that gets released with pain and anger. His face hurts. His body aches from both the beating and the prolonged immobilization into a forced position. He’s dizzy and confused, probably because he’s officially dehydrated. And his mind keeps stupidly tripping between unfounded hope, like just now, and pointless, hypervigilant attempts of coming up with an escape plan. There is no escape plan. This is an excellently chosen room for detaining someone against their will. He's not getting out of here until he is let go or sprung free. Placing his fate in other people's hands? Not Dean's forte.

“We thought we’d change it up a bit, try something new,” the young man says. His voice is pleasant, melodic. It too, is odd and confusing.

“Yoga?” Dean asks.  There’s not much bite to it. He’s very tired.

The young man hums, but Hired Muscle sets the watering can down and rounds Dean to do something with the mat behind his back.

Dean doesn’t get it before Hired Muscle grabs a hold of the back of his chair and tips him over. He’s almost gentle considering he could have just kicked the chair to topple Dean. Apparently they don’t want him entirely concussed? But somewhere during the descent - just before Dean’s head hits the ground and he realizes that he’s at an angle - the back legs of the chair are elevated on the rolled up yoga mat – Dean realizes that he knows what they have planned. His entire body seizes up in pure, unadulterated terror, his legs spasming against their restraints.

It must show on his face too, because the blond clicks his tongue, and digs his phone out of his pocket in haste. Focuses it on his face.

“What do you want?” Dean asks, but most of the volume seems to have gone from his voice. It’s a pathetic, petrified, crackling whisper. He can't feel his lips. There's nothing but fear. It's stronger than anything he ever remembers feeling in his life. So strong it writes over everything.

Etch-a-sketches all previous feelings, sensations and experiences, until there's nothing but the gray static of horror.

“Hm?” the young blond replies, pale eyes flicking up from the screen of his phone: “oh, we just want Miss Masters to come home.”

And it makes no sense to Dean, because Meg can’t be that hard to find, or if she’s made herself so hard to find, then he won’t know where she is either. But they don’t ask him any questions. Hired Muscle covers his face with a towel and Dean tries to hold his breath, but there’s a pressure on his solar plexus, then a sharp punch that makes him release air. He’s on the back end of a greedy inhale, when a slow cascade of water goes up his nose. He gags, coughs; stupidly inhales again, which makes the wet towel cling tightly to his nostrils and his open mouth. It’s a sickening, suffocating, gluey feeling, a giant hand holding him down, a hopeless, helpless crash. There’s more water going down the wrong way, slow and cold and relentless. And he’s certain he’s dying. Panic overtakes, he thrashes against the chair and his bonds, tearing the skin of his wrists, dislocating his own shoulder. Then a low descent into darkness as his consciousness leaves.

The first thing he comes back to, when consciousness snags him, is the awful, wrenching sensation of throwing up. Then he’s screaming. And they do it again. They still don’t ask him anything, and he wishes they would, because he’d tell them. He’d tell them anything to convince them to not do that again. Apparently he’s a man who would tell them, to make it stop.

Later, when they leave, and the dripping sounds finally stop as his shirt slowly dries on his shivering, wrung out body, his brain just skips between those two scratches on that same shitty vinyl. Make it stop versus I’m the man who would talk to make it stop. He doesn’t know how to come back from that.

***

Jess stirred, overly warm and groggy. Her body checked in a little at a time, legs stretched out on the leather couch, thighs sticky with sweat. One arm around Sam’s ribs, the other trapped beneath her and sending her that heavy feeling of ants swarming. She took a moment to nuzzle Sam’s chest, inhaling the sweet grassy cologne scent and fabric softener. She pulled herself into an upright position, rolling her neck. The loss of her comforting weight against him woke Sam. He stretched his shoulders, extending his arms, and tugging at the sweaty curls at the nape of her neck. “What time is it?” she asked him, muzzily.

He picked up his phone and pressed the button to light the screen, “coming up on eight. We’ve been here all night.”

She giggled. “I was so tired. Hey!” she pulled his phone from his hands, “why did Cas text you?”

“That’s Cas’ number?” Sam asked her, puzzled. “It just asks me to come over. I thought it was a pickup.”

Jess giggled again and then fake pouted, “how is it fair that Cas gets the Winchester brothers tag-team treatment when I’m still waiting for my turn?”

“Ahhh!! It can’t be that!” Sam fended off her tickling and sent Dean a text, “dude, why is your bf trying to get me to come over in the middle of the night? This better not be one of his kinky games.”

A moment later, Dean texted back, “I like kinky games. Are you a girl Sammy or a boy Sammy?”

“What. the. Fuck?” Sam asked, showing the phone to Jess. She shrugged. “Maybe someone snagged Dean’s phone at a club?”

“Moron probably didn’t even know he was PD.” And then Sam texted “This is my brother Dean’s phone, asshole, and he’s a cop.”

The phone pinged again almost immediately, “Oooh, an indignant sibling! You want to come play kinky games with me and your brother, Sammy?” attached was a snap of Dean’s bloody and battered face, one eye swollen shut, but both as wide as they'd go in panic.

“Fuck!” Sam shouted throwing the phone to the floor and leaping up, pulling his hands through his hair, horror stricken. Nausea washed over him and he bent at the waist, hands on his thighs, just trying to catch his breath.

“What is it, Sam? Baby!! SAM!” Jess was shouting, but he couldn’t really hear her. He was at the bottom of a well, and still falling. “Sam!!”

Jess snatched the phone from the floor and started scrolling through the messages. “Holy shit!” The pic looked legit. Yeah, that was Dean. Fuck.

She grabbed Sam, “baby, I know this is hard, but we’ve gotta get it together. We’ve gotta get dressed and go to Cas. Sam!”

He looked up at her, eyes wide. Her voice softened, Jess had seen her share of blood in surgical and ER rotations, Jess knew bloody, it was the fear in Dean's eyes that worried her. But her sweet Sam didn’t know either: “I know, Sam. I know. Come on.”

Sam and Jess flung the doors to the lobby open and were immediately confronted by Cedric, the morning security and the two uniforms. Sam, wallet already in his hand, pushed it at the nearest cop who took it and flipped it open, “I’m Sam Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester’s brother. My driver’s license is in there and there are a couple of pics of Dean at our wedding, one with me and Dean and one with Dean and Jess,” he gestured to his wife, “at our wedding,” he repeated awkwardly.

“I’m Jessica Moore,” Jess added pushing her wallet at the same cop. “I’m Dean’s sister-in-law, and I’m his doctor. We’re here for his boyfriend, Castiel.”

The cops nodded and handed back the wallets. You didn’t keep family apart at a time like this. Cedric called the elevator and the cops in the lobby said they’d clear them through the cops on the 14th floor. Jess thanked them all and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling him into the elevator.

He leaned against her for the few moments the elevator rose up through the building until it deposited them on Cas and Dean’s floor. For a moment, Jess was disoriented, but obviously Cas’ loft had to be the one with the uniformed police standing in front of the door. They nodded at Sam and Jess and retreated to the couches.

***

Cas didn’t realize that he had been waiting for the Snapchat clicks on Meg’s phone, until he heard them. It’s like his brain had been on high alert - abhorring the idea of more snaps of Dean, yet longing for them. They both lunged at the phone, but Meg was fast like a python. She snagged it, hiding it in two fists; pressed it against her chest like a child trying to keep a toy from the other kids at the playground.

“Meg,” Cas said, slow and clear and unhesitant: “I don’t give a single shit about what you’re thinking and why you don’t want me to see, but if you don’t show me that snap, I will never in my life speak a single word to you again.”

He meant it too. Every word. And the most horrifying thing was that it took Meg a moment. It took her a couple of dozen of seconds of calculation and calibration to decide if it might be worth it. If cutting Cas out of her life might be a price she’d be willing to pay. She loved Cas but it had taken her maybe five minutes that morning she crawled into bed with Dean to understand that Dean was the love of Cas’ life. Yes, to preserve that, she’d pay it, and gladly. But she wasn’t sure what the game was yet, and she might need Cas’ money or his social connections. Shit.

She finally moved her hands, one reluctant inch after another, until the phone screen was visible to both of them. She slid a thin, pale finger- chipping nail polish, broken fingernail - across the screen. Conjured it back to life, into revealing the Snapchat app.

1 new snap from Dean Winchester.

The both held their breath as it opened. Not a video this time, but it screamed louder than anything with audio and movement would. A close up of Dean’s face, his eyes - one swollen half shut - wide in what could only be described as horror. Wide and green and cornered like those of an animal awaiting certain death. That look seeped into Cas like poison gas, squeezed his insides, bruising his heart. They were breaking Dean. Inside and out. The gray text stripe ran across the bridge of his nose and said: “come out, come out, i don’t think he’s gonna last long.”

“They’re breaking him,” Cas whispered. But Meg took a screen capture. Because apparently she could look into Dean’s panic filled eyes and think straight. Something long lost and well buried moved in Cas’ gut. Tiny particles of anger stirring in his blood. Microscopic shards of something Cas had, a long time ago, spent a lot of energy on grinding into paste, were now unfurling, waking, recombining into constellations of rage and loathing; seeking for a target, pointing themselves towards Meg.

“Fuck,” Meg swore under her breath.

“You knew!” Cas almost never raised his voice in anger and now was no exception. No, his voice was soft and low, and damning.

She dropped her hands from the phone, “I suspected,” she replied just as softly.

“Jesus, Meg, do not play your fucking ‘truth from a certain perspective’ word games with me. I am not one of your fucking marks.”

“We don’t call them that,” she said quietly, looking at her hands.

He shook his head slowly, eyes black, “goddammit … just tell me what you know.”

She pulled another deep breath in through her nose and blew it out slowly, a slight tremble in her right hand. Fuck. She met his gaze and saw the heartbreak there, and the cold, dark fury. She’d put that there. She’d reignited that long-doused flame. She swallowed, and the pain slid like ice down her throat, spreading a heavy chill through her chest and settling like stones in her stomach.

“OK. I know where the police are hiding Adam. I know that Roman is trying to get a private flight to a non-extradition country. I’ve done as much as I can to, um ... _narrow_ his options, but eventually he’ll find someone to take him over the border, some people don’t care about crossing my employers. And,” she said bitterly gesturing at the phone on the bed, “I know the bastard who put his hands on Dean.”

Cas swallowed, then raised his left hand to rub at his left eye. No, no, no.

Then, soft a low, “where is Dean, Meg?”

She looked him over, his face closed off to her, his posture rigid, and the cold blackness wormed its way deeper into her bones. “Not verified, but I think I’ve got him. I’m waiting on a confirmation phone call.”

Cas sat silently, just looking down at the phone.

“I wish you hadn’t seen that, Castiel.”

“You mean you wish I hadn’t seen what people like you can do.” With his gaze down, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and she was reminded of another set of long lashes framing green, green eyes and a beautiful face graced with freckles and charm.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was flat, the numbness had set in, and she welcomed it. This was right. She was a blunt instrument of death, but Cas was light and life. He and Dean deserved each other. She chuckled bitterly, sure, that was a fuckton of hot in one relationship, but they were good together. They needed each other. No one needed the dark violence that followed her everywhere, endlessly, always.

“Meg, stop.” Cas scrubbed at his face with his hands and then rubbed his temples, “just stop. I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Of course. Focus on your man. I’ll deal with mine.” There was nothing there now. He heard nothing of Meg in her voice, no texture or strength, no anger, no threat, no sorrow, no pain, nothing. His head came up and he looked into her eyes and saw only the cool blue of himself reflected there. Jesus.

“Meg,” he began. But she put her hands up to stop him as the other phone next to her laptop beeped. She picked it up, looked at it, nodded once, and thumbed the power off.  Just as Cas opened his mouth to say something, move them out of this toxic quagmire, or further into it, Meg’s phone blew up with a click click click of incoming Snaps. One, two, three, six.  Jarring like a car crash. Because if earlier all of Cas had been expecting a new Snap, then now? He was not ready.  Not ready. Not ready. Not ready. Six new snaps in the course of seconds, dousing Cas like ice water, putting out his anger, robbing him of all ability to think or act. He wished Meg would take the phone now, hide it, run with it.

“Cas?” Meg’s voice was hesitant, torn between distance and concern.

“It’s fine, open them,” Cas lied. Meg knew he lied. Cas knew, Meg knew he lied. She opened them anyway.

One - Dean, scared shitless, lips blue, asking “what do you want?” as a smooth voice behind the scenes said they needed Meg to come home.  He was so scared. Cas felt his heart constrict and his fingers tingle with it. Dean knew what they had planned for him and was so afraid. Cas heard Meg take a whistling breath. She knew too. Only Cas didn’t.

Two - a hammy hand reached into the screen, covered Dean’s face with a fluffy white towel. Dean made a muffled, animal noise of despair behind it.  Cas felt his brain short. “What,” he said. “What.” He couldn’t even hear Meg breathing.

Three - they fucking poured water over the towel. They were drowning him. Blood pulsed violently in Cas’ ears, and he heard Meg stomp her feet, helpless and angry.

Four - Dean was fighting it, with everything he had, thrashing against the chair, gagging and spluttering. Cas was vaguely aware that Meg was touching him, his arm, elbow, shoulder, saying something, but Cas couldn’t hear her. The roar of his own rushing blood filled his ears. His vision narrowed. He was watching the man he loved fight for his life.

Five - on the tiny screen Dean went limp. Both Cas and Meg jolted into a series of pointless, aborted movements, the phone jostled around. Cas vaguely heard the smooth, sickening voice say “huh, that took a while.” Meg had stopped pulling at him.

Six - Dean came back to. His screams sliced through Cas like razor blades. He didn’t know how to come back from that.

“Right,” he heard Meg saying after a while. “Right.”

Stomping around. Then repeating the one word again, like a mantra, like a battle call. When Cas finally made his body work enough to turn towards her, she was digging around in her bag and pulled out a small, unmarked bottle, popped it open, and tipped out two round, blue pills. She stood up, hobbled briefly on her sore ankle, then grabbed the whiskey bottle and washed down the pills.

“Amphetamines?” he didn’t have the words, but gestured weakly to the bandages on her wrists. She smiled with just her mouth and rolled her neck. Then she started packing up her tech saying, “I want to be able to feel it.”

“Feel what? What are you doing?”

She kept packing, carefully around Charlie so as not to wake the other woman.

“Meg,” he caught her wrist. She shook him off and ran her hand affectionately through his hair, whispering “he’s coming back to you, Cas.”

What? Shit. He was slow and tired and a little drunk, but it all clicked together in that moment. And Cas stood up and caught both of her forearms in his much larger hands, “no. you are not trading yourself for him. That’s suicide.” Some of her blood was still drying beneath his fingernails.

“Let me go, Cas.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me make you,” she warned.  

Their eyes locked. She could do it too, even now, battered and sore, he had no doubt. He couldn’t let her go, and he couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t stop her. And that ice in her eyes said none of it mattered anyway.

The pounding on the door broke the spell.

They turned in confusion, and then headed together toward the sound of voices.

“Cas!! Fuck, Cas, answer the fucking door!” Sam shouted as the banging continued.

Meg quirked her eyebrow at Cas, and he shrugged in response and opened the door. Sam pushed in pulling Jess by the hand along behind him. Cas slipped past them to push the door closed as Sam rounded on them. Meg came into view and Jess froze, “Jesus! Are you ok?” Jess wrapped her strong, sure hands around Meg’s biceps and looked into her eyes. “Hm,” she muttered. Pushing Meg backwards, gently onto a barstool.

Swept up, Sam and Cas followed them. “I’m fine,” Meg told the much taller woman, but Jess wasn’t listening. She had her fingers on the pulse in Meg’s throat and was looking at her watch. Then Jess lifted her hands turning her wrists. “Who bandaged these?”

“I did,” Cas inserted. “I disinfected them and soaked out any potential rope fibers.”

Jess just hmmm-ed at that and went back to peering in Meg’s eyes, “what did you take?”

Meg just gave Jess a level look and said, “I’m fine. Thank you. And I was just leaving.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going!?” Sam demanded.

Meg rolled her eyes at Sam, lifted her chin, then shouldered him out of her way. Which was impressive in its own right since she was half his size and wearing little more than bandages, cotton underwear, and a frigid glare. He reached out and caught her by the elbow, shoving his phone in front of her, “what the fuck is going on? Why do you look like a truck hit you, why is someone sending me bloody pics of my brother, where is Dean, and, I swear to fucking god, someone needs to explain this shit to me now.” Sam’s chest was heaving. Meg took his phone from his hands and looked dispassionately at the image. She slipped the phone into Sam’s front jeans pocket and looked down at where he still held her elbow. Then she looked up at Cas. Waiting.

Charlie and Jo tumbled into the front room with Jo barely on her feet and the smaller woman holding her upright, “what’s going on?” Charlie asked.

“Jo!” Sam released Meg and fell on Jo as the one person in the room he really knew. “You’re OK! Where is Dean!?”

Jo stumbled a little as Sam grabbed her a little too desperately. She pulled back and steadied herself with one hand on the wall. “Is she drunk?” Sam asked Cas, his voice angry. Cas’s ears were still full of his own fury and he was having a hard time keeping up with the shifting emotions in the room. Jess calm and professional, Meg cold and focused, Sam emoting panic and pain all over everyone, Jo numb from guilt and loss, his own hot rage stirred into his own regret. It was too much to process. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared back at Sam, an immediate target.

Meg shook her head at the scene, turned and moved in the direction of the door.

“Meg!” Charlie called out to her. Meg paused and then, turned her head to look back at Charlie who gestured helplessly. “They need to know.”

“Fucking right I need to know!” Sam shouted as he took a step in Meg’s direction. Cas’ spine went ramrod straight and the burning fury inside him stretched and purred. He stepped into Sam’s path.

Jess crossed her arms over her chest, and Jo straightened up from where she was leaning against a wall. Meg turned her body fully to face Sam, hands loose at her sides.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Charlie bounced into the middle of the group, “OK, OK, all you big, scary people are pissed. Got it. Let’s, you know, just take a moment here. Everybody, just let’s count to five, yeah?” Her gaze darted worriedly from face to face. Cas closed his eyes and began counting to himself. Jess extended her hand to Sam, who moved to her side and took it. Jo slipped over to Charlie’s side and whispered something in the smaller woman’s ear.  Meg just held her ground.

Charlie cleared her throat. “OK. Good. So, let’s take this from the top. We haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Charlie. I co-own Grounds for Murder with Castiel,” she gestured in Cas’ direction. “This is our friend, Meg. She travels a lot for her security work, but when she’s in town, she’s with us,” she gestured in Meg’s direction. Meg was staring straight ahead and Cas nodded sipping from a glass of water someone had left on the counter.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you. I’m Jessica, Dean’s sister-in-law, and this is my husband, Sam, who I think you know from his sandwich shop.”

Sam stared at Charlie and then Jess and then Cas, “are we really fucking doing this right now?”

Jess squeezed his hand.

“No, I want to know, Jess. Are we really fucking playing ‘meet the family’ right now? Someone tell me where my fucking brother is.”

Charlie looked at her hands, Meg stared off  in the distance, and Jo shifted her weight from foot to foot. Finally, she said, “maybe we should all just sit down and talk this out.” She gestured toward the sofas, and working with Charlie, they ushered everyone into the sitting area. Sam sat stiffly, his arms still crossed over his chest, Jess at his side. Charlie sat with Jo. Cas took a chair of his own, and Meg sat on his chair arm. They sat quietly for a moment. Charlie bit down on the impulse to giggle at what was surely a preview of Our First Awkward Family Thanksgiving.

Cas finally broke the silence, “it’s a long story, but the short version is that your foster brother Adam got into some trouble with a bad guy, and Meg was helping Dean to get him out of it. Dean pulled Adam out and brought Adam here yesterday. Meg got crosswise of the bad guy, and he left her alone with some of his goons. She got away from them and came here to warn Dean and Adam that he was looking for them. That’s when I texted you and Charlie. Dean and Jo went to the hospital to question some potential witnesses, while Bobby Singer took Adam to a safehouse. Dean was taken from the hospital while Jo protected the witnesses. And now the bad guy has Dean. And he’s hurting him and sending Meg video. The entire police force is out looking for him except the ones who are here and who are guarding Adam.”

Sam just stared at him. Jo leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Meg stood up, “well, this has been fun, but I’ve got to run.”

“Meg, don’t.” Cas reached for her but she shook him off. He stood up to follow her and she turned on him, “back off, Castiel. I got this.”

Charlie was on her feet too, looking between Meg and Cas. Meg gave her a toothy smile, “thanks, Red.”

“Wait.” Sam said, command in his voice. “Just wait one goddamn minute.” Everyone stilled.

“Why did they take Dean?” Sam asked, looking from face to face for an answer.

No one responded.

Frustrated, Sam huffed, “Seriously, what the fuck do they want?”

In a tone starkly devoid of emotion, Meg answered, “they want me.”

Sam stared at her. Everyone found somewhere else to focus their attention. Which, you know, Meg deserved, right? Fuck. She ground her teeth in frustration. This was getting them nowhere. Cas was pissed and spiraling. Of course Sam was pissed, he should be pissed. That sociopath-for-hire was taking apart his older brother, piece by piece, and Meg was just hanging out at a slumber party in her weekday underpants. Fuck this.

Cas reached for her hand, hoping to bolster her against the certain fury of the younger Winchester. Sam rose from the couch and Cas shifted his posture to subtly put himself between Meg and Sam.

Sam chuckled darkly, “move.” Meg gave Cas a small shove in the small of the back and looked up into the face of Sam. She could do this.

Sam’s words carried more than a hint of malice, “you, you’re some kind of expert in this right? ‘Security’ bullshit. You work for this scum who took Dean?” An accusation, then.

Meg reached for the ice deep inside her and pulled it around her, painting her face in cool professionalism and wrapping herself in another layer of numb. She welcomed the sharp, bitter edges and the flinty cool rising through her limbs. She’d stared down the worst of humanity, she could handle an aggrieved brother. She could do this. She deserved it. “Yes, I work for this scum. I’m an expert in global scum. This particular scum’s name is Dick Roman.”

Sam considered this for a moment, name recognition flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded. “OK, you work for a rich and powerful asshole scum. That tracks.” Meg didn’t flinch at his tone. She was beyond hurt now.  “So, why would Roman do that? Why would he take Dean from a public place? That seems pretty motherfucking reckless, right? Kidnapping a cop from a hospital?  And, I mean, Dean’s a great cop or whatever, but he’s not organized crime or narcotics or human trafficking. He doesn’t work cartel cases. He’s working some restaurant robberies, right? It’s not exactly the front lines of evil in this town.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “He’s been working the vandalism of local businesses, vandalism that Adam was committing at the behest of Roman. Adam got caught up with Roman’s business and couldn't get out, so he left clues that would get Bobby’s attention, and Bobby tasked Dean to retrieve Adam and close the case.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly. Still staring daggers at Meg and Cas. “So, Imma ask again. Why Dean? What the fuck do they want?”

“Me.” Meg said. “They want me. They’ve taken Dean, and I’m to trade myself for him. Which, I could be doing right now if I weren’t sitting here in my underwear at the least sapphic slumber party I’ve ever attended."

She shifted to leave again, and Sam took a step, and Cas took a step, moving chest to chest with Sam. He was a full four inches shorter than the younger man, but the anger inside him roared, and he’d put his money on his own fury every fucking time. He bent for nothing and no one. Never again.

The men held their positions, rigid and immobile, rock meets hard place. Until finally, something flickered behind the panic in Sam’s hazel eyes. He took a tiny step back and scrubbed at the back of his neck, a gesture so familiar it tore through Cas’ chest and he let out a tiny gasp. Sam’s head came up at that. He met Cas’ eyes again, and Cas saw recognition there, and something else. Something vibrant and calculating -- there he was. That was the genius intellect Dean had told him about. This was the mind that had torn through law school in record time, while partying with his brother, chasing the girl of his dreams, and holding down a part time job. Then Sam winked at Cas, turned and stepped back to the couch seating himself next to Jess.

“OK. Well, explain this to me, before you leave that is.” Sam gestured absently.  “Why do they want you?”

Meg stared at Sam. She cocked her head to one side thinking. Cautiously, she walked over and sat on the arm of the chair and Cas followed her. They sat together in silence for another moment, Meg clearly processing, following Sam down a path the rest of them hadn’t found yet.

“Tell me what they said,” Sam asked her in earnest.

Meg nodded in affirmation and complied, “They called Dean my 'toy' and said I should come collect him before they break him.”

“Is that all?”

“Um, no? They said to come home.”

“Home? That exact word?”

“Yes,” Meg snapped, exasperated. “Home. And that’s it  … oh. Fuck.” Meg’s eyes were unfocused as she thought it through.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” Sam asked her.

“I”m thinking … Yes. I'm thinking this isn’t about Dean at all. Except that Roman is pissed that Dean pulled him in, made him want Dean to like him. So, maybe beating Dean is just Roman being petty, and it conveniently hurts me.”

“So, he’s mad Dean’s prettier than he is?” Sam laughed darkly. “He wouldn’t be the first. But why that specific word _home_ and why hurt you?”

“Because he’s manipulating me,” she waved her hand, eye still unfocused, “or, rather, blackmailing me. Whatever. Pushing my buttons.”

“Because this is all about family, isn’t it?” Sam asked. Goddamn he was smart.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Meg agreed. “Cas is my family, Dean is Cas’ family, Adam is Dean’s family.”

“I could go to get Dean, but they’d just keep torturing him until I do what they want me to do.” She tugged her lower lip and glanced to Charlie who nodded and dug one of the clean phones out of the bag and tossed it to Meg.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked her. In response, she just rose and settled herself on the couch in between he and Jess. The latter of whom agreeably shoved over to make room. Meg leaned into Sam and allowed him to look over her shoulder as she sent a text. “I’m waking up Adam.”

“Wait, what? How are you doing that?” Cas asked her in surprise. Meg rolled her eyes. Charlie interjected, “we dropped a burner into his bag before Bobby pulled him out of here. Cas raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“OK, I missed it though. What do they want you to do and why are you texting Adam?” Jess asked leaning forward on the couch.

Meg looked into Jess’ face, “they want me to kill Adam. If I go to them, they’ll just keep torturing Dean until I take out Adam. And then they’ll kill him anyway and me too when I go collect him after I do the job. Or, if I kill Adam and then go to them to get Dean, they’ll beat him until I get there, and probably kill us both anyway.”

“Why do they think you can find and kill Adam if he’s hidden and protected by the police in a safehouse?” Jess asked, genuinely confused.

“Because I can,” Meg stated. Cold, hard fact. When everything else fails, go with the truth. Her phone chimed, with a reply from Adam.  “Look, I need to go.”

“No,” Sam told her. “You need to sit here and let us help you figure this out." He paused, tilted his head and gave her a level, considering look. "Oh, and when we get my brothers back and no one is dead, then we’re all going to sit down and talk about how the fuck this happened, and why you’re high on speed and Jo and Cas are drunk off their asses while my brother, your fucking boyfriend,” he pointed at Cas, “is being tortured on video by some asshole friend of yours,” Sam gestured at Meg.

“Fuck you, Sam,” Jo muttered from where she held her head in her hands. She raised her head to look him in the eye, “fuck you. _I_ lost him. ME. And I am not drunk. I _was_ drunk. Then I was asleep. Then I was fucking drowning in despair. Because I lost my partner. So, yeah, he’s your brother. And you love him and shit. But I _ride_ with him every fucking day. He is my best friend and he keeps me alive. I’m supposed to have his back, ride or die, and I lost him.”

“Jo,” Sam started.

“No!” She shouted back. “You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through on this case, OK? I’m fucking sick and tired of holding this whole thing together while Dean creeps around in the shadows, and Bobby, my boss, keeps secrets from me, oh, and fucking cherry on top, I’m supposed to be the emotional grown up while Bobby and Dean and everyone else whips their dicks around. Did it ever occur to anyone that I could help if I’d been in the loop? But it doesn’t matter at the end of the day because I’m the one who lost her partner. Shit.”

“You saved those witnesses and who knows how many people at the hospital, Jo,” Charlie told her.

“Yeah, I fucking know that. Bobby said he was putting me in for a commendation. Peachy.”

“Men, am I right!? This whole fucking mess was made by them. Without them, we’d just be watching chick flicks and braiding each others’ hair” Meg snarked.

“Drinking cosmos and soaking in girllove,” Jess added, her tone sharp. Meg nodded at her. Meg guessed Jess was one of those people who got harder and stronger under stress. Like Meg herself. Well, it would make sense for a doctor. Meg moved Jess to the ally column.

Yeah. They could maybe get this train back on the tracks.

Jo looked up at the other women. “So, let’s stop feeling sorry for ourselves, and you help me work the problem then,” Meg snapped tossing the clean phone to Jo who caught it and glared back at the smaller woman.

Jo’s phone rang and she looked down at the screen, “MK,” she told the group and then rose and walked back to the bed to take her call.

Sam rose, looking at Cas for acknowledgment, “I’m assuming you have food in this gigantic house? And I’m assuming you’ve all have very little food and sleep. If it’s OK with you, I’m going to take over your kitchen and put out some breakfast for you all.”

Cas nodded and Charlie jumped up, “I’ll help!”

“Maybe it make sense to move this meeting to the kitchen counter,” Cas added, “we can drink coffee and keep talking. I want to maximize our time.”

The group moved to the kitchen just as Jo walked back in, “MK says Bobby says we’re all to stay together here with the cops on the doors until we hear from them, that includes you and Jess, Sam. Jess, when you have to work, we’re to call Bobby and he’s sending someone with you. The hospitals are upping their security, but this is the deal if you want to leave. No one else leaves.”

Jess thanked Jo and told Cas that she’d brought an overnight bag and left it by the front door. Cas said there was plenty of room and they were welcome to stay. Then he moved into the kitchen, whispering to Charlie that she was better used as a computer wizard, and started sous cheffing for Sam who was making a ham, onion, pepper and cheese scramble. The coffee was brewing. They were all on the same page now.

It was when they were all stuffing eggs in their mouths that they came to an agreement. As Meg explained, they knew where Adam was and they knew where Dean was. The trouble came with not knowing how well guarded Dean was. So far they’d seen four men on the videos, Meg figured they should expect twice that many. And these would be better than the ones she’d taken down in the garage.  They needed professionals. In this room, they had Meg and Jo. Meg wanted to add Adam since she’d already worked with him and he had a military background. Jo suggested her boyfriend Cole, and Cas apologized for not already inviting the man. Jo demurred saying she hadn’t wanted the solace of her boyfriend.

Jo made the call and then notified the cops and security to send Cole up.

Sam wasn’t happy in general, but he had everyone sign a post-it note contracting him for legal representation. Pocket change was exchanged. Cas wrote a hefty retainer check. Sam grimaced, but Cas just replied, “paper trail,” and Sam pocketed the check. He was everyone’s lawyer now.

They were clearing the dishes into the dishwasher when Cole knocked on the door. He was wearing a 9mm on his hip and carried another handgun holstered at the small of his back. In his right hand was a duffel bag. Sam raised his eyebrows and Cole smirked, “open carry state, and I’m still in, I’m a reservist.” Introductions were made. Jo grabbed a quick shower and Meg had gone across the hall to change into more durable clothes and bring back two more nondescript black bags. Jo used the clean phone Meg had given her to send  another text to Adam. He was going to slip out a second floor balcony and climb down to meet them on the corner. They’d do a rolling car pickup, and no one on the busy streets would even notice.

It was midday, not the ideal time to storm a castle, but none of them were willing to wait. They were going to go get Dean.

“Charge your phones,” Meg told Charlie, Cas, Sam and Jess as their small, heavily armed group headed for the door. “We’ll call as soon as we have him.”

“What hospital will you take him to?” Cas asked.

“St Joe’s,” Jo told him. “They’re a Level I Trauma Center. And they take care of our cops.”

“OK.” Cas replied softly, knuckles white.

As they approached the door, Jess grabbed Sam’s leather jacket off the coat hook and said, “I’m coming with you. He’s going to need medical attention.”

Meg looked her over and passed her one of the black bags, “field first aid; you can look through it in the car and figure out what you have to work with.”

Sam pulled her close and kissed her forehead, “thank you, Jess.” She squeezed his hand and followed the group out the door.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kit up, people. we ride at noon. *waves*
> 
> ETA: working on next chapters. Hope to post by June 5 ❤️


	35. Blood in My Head, Death in My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes are done with this shit, and they're going to go get their Dean. A bold move that carries consequences for everyone. But especially for the bad guys. 
> 
> In Meg's world, bad guys die bloody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG dear ones!! I've missed you so much!! 
> 
> Where have we been!? I had a birthday with a short vacation and awesome concert tickets, food and drink. Then there was an unscheduled work trip. A necessary but unplanned road trip where I served as co-pilot and DJ. The best thing the driver and I can say about it is that no one died. I had three major work projects come together. That was both amazing and exhausting. And that's even before we get to the shitton of stuffs on sarcasticbones' plate. 
> 
> I am sincerely sorry for the delay. This thing was a beast to write and wrangle. I hope it's worth it. 
> 
> Pour a glass of pinot and mind the tags. This one is gory as hell.

As Jo, Cole, Meg, and Jess walked toward the elevator, Mack, one of the uniforms on the floor, moved in front of the elevator doors. “You’re supposed to stay here,” he told Jo, eyes shifting to her companions. 

“So I’ve heard,” Jo replied, matter-of-factly.

“OK. So, I need you all to turn around and go back inside.”

“No.” 

“Detective Harvelle…” Mack began cautiously, and she felt a jolt of sympathy for him because after all, he was just doing his job. Even if his job just now was to be in her way.

“Look, we” she said gesturing to Meg and Cole, “are going to go get my partner. And you,” she gestured to Mack and Nguyen, “are going to get out of our way. Call it in if you have to.” She squared her shoulders and stared him in the eye. Deadly serious.

Mack looked to Nguyen who stared back for a beat and then gave a terse nod. Mack turned back to Jo, “I’ll give you a ten minute head start before I call it in.”

“Fair enough,” Jo told him, one hand on his shoulder.

“Good hunting, Harvelle,” he called as the elevator doors closed behind them.

***  
¡¡Earlier that morning!!

Meg slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning the water on in the sink. She placed her call and waited for the receiver to pick up.

“Yeah?”

“Remember that favor you owe me?”

“How could I forget, sweetie?” the feminine voice murmured low and velveteen. “You want me to make it up to you tonight?”

Meg laughed dirty. “Actually, I need your help, and it’s both tedious and dangerous.”

The other woman sighed, “oh, well. Fine. Tell me the tedious stuff first.”

“I need you to go to Target and buy a women’s tee and shorts in extra small and two men’s tees and shorts in medium. And I need a pair of women’s flip flops and two pairs of men’s. The women’s are size 6. The boys have big feet. Mix up the colors so we don’t look like a fucking softball team.”

The other woman laughed heartily. “As I recall, you’re a damned fine midfielder.”

“Old friends and a long time ago, “ Meg replied softly. “I need you to leave the clothes in the ‘company’ van parked in the secure parking garage at the address I’ll text you.”

“A little breaking and entering to break up the tedium?” the woman quipped.

“Heh. You’ll barely break a sweat... It’s this other thing I need that’s gonna suck.”

“Bring it, sweetheart.”

And then Meg explained carefully and quickly what she had planned.

***

The elevator took them to the basement, and Meg walked them over to a black, cargo van. “It’s open,” she told them as she moved to the driver’s side. Cole caught her arm just above the elbow. She looked down at his hand and then up into his face, teeth bared. He removed his hand slowly and raised both of his, palms out in the universal symbol of surrender. “I’m just saying, you were lit when I got here, and I saw you bump just before we walked out the door. Now, I’ve been in the sand too, so you know I’m not judging, but I’m trained in exfil transpo too, I can drive. Save your heightened…” he made a gesture generally encompassing her small frame, “everything for the fight, yeah?”

Meg grunted in agreement, moved around to the passenger side and hopped into the shotgun seat.

Jo and Jess slid the side door open and settled into the bench seat there, duffles on the floor between their feet. Jess looked at the cargo space behind their seat, it was immaculately clean. Dean was tall, but there seemed to be enough room for both of them. The van looked new. She dropped the medical kit back there and slid the door closed

Cole fired up the ignition and threw the vehicle into reverse. 

“Where’d you get the van?” Jess asked Meg.

“From a friend,” Meg told her, then gave her a toothy smile, “totally legal. I promise. We’ll leave it in the hospital parking lot, and they’ll come pick it up.”

“You have a lot of friends?”

“Yeah, well, I always got room for new ones,” Meg replied with a wink over her shoulder. 

***

Adam had been twitchy since the text this morning from Meg. Obviously, Bobby had demanded his personal/work phone when they left Dean and Cas’ place. It made sense, he supposed. They didn't want anyone tracking it. What they didn’t realize was that Meg had an arsenal’s worth of weapons and an electronic store worth of sketchy spy gear stashed in her loft. So just as obviously there was a burner phone in the bag Meg had passed him on the way out of the loft. He knew there would be one, but he hadn’t touched it until he’d told the detectives he was turning in last night. When he was sure there was a phone, he started expecting a message, which means he’d done some recon of his room. The window, while large, was the kind that only opened a few inches. He’d used a screwdriver from the multitool he’d also found in his bag (thanks, Meg) to break the stops in the window channel. Then he’d opened the window all the way, removed the screen and slid it under the bed, closing the window afterwards. Because the curtains were closed, he figured the detectives wouldn’t notice. His heart had stuttered for a moment when they “put him to bed,” and briefly pulled back the blackout drapes to look out. But they hadn’t noticed the missing screen. 

So he dug the phone out of his bag and tucked it into his pillowcase. He’d turned the tv on low before going to sleep thinking the soft volume would mask any sounds from the phone. And he was used to it anyway. He’d been falling asleep with the tv on since he'd been discharged. 

This morning the text from Meg woke him. They would be making a play for Dean today and needed his help. He stayed in his room to avoid talking until just before noon when he joined the detectives in a Greek lunch from Crazy Jim’s. At least cops know where to get the good takeaway. But after lunch, he’d retreated to his room again, ostensibly to read in bed, keeping his head close to the phone. The second text didn’t surprise him either, just notched his adrenalin up a bit. Maybe it should have, but he’d spent a few weeks with Meg by now and nothing she could do surprised him, least of all finding a local police protection detail. 

So, when the text came in, he was ready. ‘Moving, corner of 15th Ave and Thomas. Ten minutes.’  


Cas' borrowed running shoes on his feet, dark jeans, dark tee shirt, heavy green canvas jacket. Phone and multitool in pockets. He crawled out the window and climbed down to the ground using the architectural features of the building to brace his feet. Seriously, he’d had years of experience crawling out of the windows of foster homes -- they should have thought of that before they picked a room just two floors up from the ground.

Taking a discreet look around - he wasn’t being followed, yet - Adam set off at a casual pace through the pedestrians on the sidewalk, toward the corner indicated in the text. He arrived with about 90 seconds to spare, but they were early too. The dark van slowed, and he took a step into the street. As the door slid open, he stepped up onto the running board and slipped into the van dropping onto the seat as Jess climbed into the back. Jo pulled the door closed behind him, and the van completed its turn around the corner. They hadn’t stopped. Jess looked out the back window, “you were right, no one even seems to have noticed.”

“They never do,” Cole replied concentrating on slipping into traffic and heading north. 

“Slick driving, whoever you are,” Adam told Cole.

“Helps that you and Cole have both done this before in your former lives,” Meg chuckled. “Oh, that’s Cole. I don’t know anything about him except we three share the same 'uncle'.”

Cole nodded over the seat at Adam, and then Meg gestured to the bags at Adam’s feet. He opened one and started talking weapons with Jo. Just for something to do, something that kept his mind sharp, but off things. Cole drove. Jess stared out the back window, hands tight in her lap. 

Minutes passed. “We’re about five minutes out of where I think they’re keeping him,” Meg said.

“That’s my cue,” Jess replied smoothly, wrapping her hair into a messy bun, and then unzipping the bag in the cargo area and spreading out a plastic tarp she’d found back there. “Meg, do you have bronchodilators in this bag?”

“Yeah, there should be a couple of albuterol nebulizers in boxes in there. If he needs injections, we’re going to have to wait to the hospital because I don't love to carry sharps in that bag, but there might be a few sealed in a plastic case with the lancets and scissors. There’s a blood sugar meter in there too, and a couple of bottles of sugary orange drink, but no insulin.”

“Gotcha.” Jess continued to dig around in the bag and making neat little piles of supplies in the various grooves in the floorboard.

“Why would he need insulin?” Jo asked. “Dean’s not a diabetic.”

“This water type of torture is basically slow motion drowning, it can be bad news for lungs, but also other major organs, baby. And we don't know how many times they did it. Jess is going to have to figure it out as she goes” Cole told her over the seat and sent Adam a questioning look. Adam nodded in silent agreement and dropped a friendly arm around Jo’s shoulders.

“Let’s stay focused,” Meg spoke sharply. 

“You got a gun for me in that bag?” Jess called over the seat.

Jo reached into Meg’s never ending bag of guns and pulled out a Steyr C-A1 pistol, checked the safety, and passed it over the seat to Jess. “Thanks,” she told her and placed it in her lap.

Adam raised his eyebrows, laughing at the blunt transaction. Jo grunted and Cole shrugged, “she’s Dean’s sister-in-law.”

“Damned straight,” Jess snarked from the back. The brief bit of laughter evened out the mood and everyone took a deep breath. Funny how laughter cleanses the palette. 

“OK, so this isn’t about being subtle since it’s the middle of the day, we’re going to have to go with surprise. This is a house in a residential neighborhood, so remember, we’re assuming we’ve got maybe four minutes to get in, get Dean, and get out before the police start showing up. Don’t lose track of your time. Jo, knives or baton only. They’re going to check you for gun residue. Everyone else, remember, get back to the van, strip down, wash up, redress in the cheap crap we brought, and leave everything else in the van -- my people will take care of it. You were never here. We clear?”

Jo chewed her bottom lip. “I’m agreeing to this because you’ve made good points about needing to protect Dean if the rest of you are arrested, but I don’t like it.”

Cole gave her a calculating glance. “If we all do our jobs right, no one gets arrested. But someone’s got to stay on the board to protect Dean if this all goes south.”

“OK, well then, let’s just go over this one more time,” Jo turned her palms up looking at her hands. 

Meg took a focusing breath. “Cole is in front with the shotgun. He gets us in the door. Adam and I move in behind him. I’m left toward the large rooms, Adam is right toward the bedrooms. Cole covers us. There wasn’t much visible in the videos, but from what little I could see, I think he’s in the unfinished storage room. Looking at the floor plans on the assessor’s website, I’m thinking the door to it is in the back, off the kitchen. We don’t stop moving, and we take down everyone we see. You, Jo, come in behind us. Head through the kitchen into that storage room. You find Dean, cut him free, and scream your bloody head off. We’ll make our way to you. Jess is in the van. You set up back there, Jess?”

“Good to go,” Jess called back.

“Alright,” said Cole, “in sixty seconds, I’m going to back this van right up to their front door. Everybody ready?”

***

Dean clenches his teeth when the door opens. He flexes the muscles in his back, his thighs and his neck. It takes so much to keep his body from visibly flinching now. So much effort to not look up, to keep himself from checking what the slick blond or the Hired Muscle might be bringing with them this time. But it's this ability to not react that he feels is the last thing standing between 'totally fucked up' and 'completely broken'. 

Totally fucked up he might be able to handle. He has handled it before. It’s not pleasant, and he’s not sure how many of those a person is meant to come back from in a lifetime, but it’s theoretically possible. As long as he can control himself and not react to them coming back into the room, as long as he can make this choice, talk his flight-flight-flight response off the ledge, convince his lungs to keep taking steady, if disturbingly rattling breaths, keep his esophagus from seizing up in panic; as long as he can make his head stay where it is - down - eyes on his dirty, damp jeans, well … as long as he has that, he feels he’s still on the side of totally fucked up, and scared, and busted, but not completely broken. 

Bent, not broken. Bent, not broken. He keeps telling himself this. Oddly in his head, it sounds like Cas’ baritone. Some thread of something much kinder and more compassionate than Dean has ever managed in his inner monologues. A soft command to not be mean to himself. To not pick up and take over for his abusers and abuse himself in their absence. Like he always has in the past. Like his father taught him. But he’s not doing that now, and it’s weird. Maybe Dean is actually way past the borders of totally fucked up, and has brain damage, or hallucinations. He has these moments, lately more than moments, these large dark patches of time, when he's sure he's broken. If the slick blond and Hired Muscle had come in during one of the dark patches, Dean would have flinched. During those times, the wet noises in his head make him feel like he will never come back from this. 

But he still has moments where he believes he is bent. Bent not broken. And they came in during a resiliently bent moment. So Dean clenches his teeth, tightens his sore muscles and keeps his gaze stubbornly lowered. 

Surprisingly, a single set of steps walks across the floor, not two. 

Surprises. Dean doesn’t like surprises. 

He really hates all of the surprises they’ve sprung on him here. 

The steps come much closer than they usually do, and Dean can see an obscenely expensive pair of John Lobb balmoral oxfords from between his thighs. Before he reaches the only obvious conclusion, there’s a hand in his hair, combing through what can only be very dirty strands in an almost tender manner. 

“Oh Dean,” Dick Roman says, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Nauseating like a flat, warm diet soda.

“It’s Detective Winchester,” Dean says, voice sanded down into something raspy and distinctly unhealthy. 

Roman chuckles, fists Dean’s hair and pulls his head back, still perversely gentle.

“Ah, but Detective Winchester, I thought we were past this. Aren’t we close? Aren’t we friends? Buddies even? Didn’t you invite me to call you by your first name, as you were sitting there all spread out and pretty in my club?”

Dean doesn’t really have a comeback to this. Well he does, but he’s having an increasingly difficult time stringing words together, and the heavy weight in his chest is becoming more and more oppressive. He tries to suck in deeper breaths, but they go down with effort and trigger a water-logged coughing fit.

“They’ve really done a number on you,” Dick Roman muses. He pulls his hand out of Dean’s hair, and finds a single-packaged wet wipe from his pocket. Carefully peels the wrapping away and meticulously wipes his hand. The bitter smell of disinfectant burns in Dean’s raw respiratory system.

Dick. 

Dean may have said that last part out, because Roman tosses the wipe on the floor, puts his hands on his knees and lowers his face to level with Deans. Says “yes?” expectantly, as if Dean would ever turn to him by his first name. As if Dean would even say “dick” in Dick Roman’s company and not mean it as an insult.

“You are still very pretty, Detective Winchester,” Dick Roman states - somewhere between accusation and wonder - staring at Dean. “Even beaten up, you are pretty, what a waste.”

He stands up and walks around Dean in a wide arch, slow steps, measured. Probably intended to come off as lazy. Something’s wrong with Dean’s vision, it blurs and tunnels, then snaps back. His chest aches, his breath grows fast and shallow, and he can do nothing to slow it down.  
“Not as funny as you were though,” Roman adds. 

“Inside jokes,” Dean tries, but the words slime together. 

“What a waste,” Dick Roman says again, and this time he sounds genuinely sorry. Not for Dean, no, for his own imaginary loss. 

“But you must know, Dean, there’s only one chance with me. I would have been so good to you, Dean. But you used me and disappointed me.” 

Pompous ass. 

Dean feels himself break out in sweat, as his head spins and his vision blurs. He blinks, tries to find something stable to focus on. His fingernails look blue. All of the air he’s gasping in seems to be going nowhere.

“I think perhaps you have acute respiratory distress,” Dick Roman suggests: “my associates told me that might be in the cards for you, very unpleasant. Probably fatal. It’s a good thing we’ve gotten what we needed from you.”

Dean struggles against his lolling head to look up. Roman might be right. This feels kind of fatal.

“Oh, you still don’t know, do you?” Roman smiles. 

One thing with narcissists, they’re predictable. 

Dick Roman could never just let Dean die without telling him the master plan, warming himself in the bright glow of the imaginary admiration he can find in anyone's eyes. 

“It was never about you, it was about Miss Master’s coming back to take care of that pesky stepbrother of yours.”

Breath gurgles in Dean’s throat, there’s a pressure in his ears and it feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. So Roman knows about Adam. 

“And now my people are on their way back with Miss Masters, we’ll promise her we won't kill you, if she’s quick. We might omit the fact that you seem to be dying anyway.” Roman says. 

The last thing Dean does before darkness claims him, is smile with all his teeth. He wants to say “you will die bloody,” because they will, Meg will fillet each inch of skin off of Dick Roman’s face and feed it to him, but he runs out of consciousness before he manages to explain that to Dick. 

 

***

Cas, Charlie, and Sam were sitting at the kitchen counter drinking coffee and watching their cellphones charge. Cas had produced an extension cord and a powerstrip from somewhere, and they’d set the powerstrip up on the counter and plugged their phones in. Cas had extra charging cables, because of course he did. Sam’s forehead wrinkled in question, and Charlie just smiled softly, “he entertains overnight guests.”

Sam thought about that and took another drink of his coffee before turning to Cas. “So, you know my brother isn’t another one of your overnight guests, right?”

“I know,” Cas said softly staring at his screen and resisting the urge to pull up pics of Dean Meg had captured from Snapchat and text messages. It seemed like it might be bad luck to look at them.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t know if you realize this, but Jess and I are the only people he’s ever lived with. And I mean ever. Of course he lived with mom, but she’s got her own issues, and so, we spent a lot of time with Bobby and Ellen. But as adults, it’s only ever been me and Jess. And now you. You picked him up and took him home one night a few weeks ago, and he just never left. And now it’s all sex and rainbows all the time. Do you know how unlikely that sounds to my ears?” Sam got it all out in a rush. He turned to Cas, chest rising and falling in anxious frustration.

Cas rubbed his hand over his mouth, coming away with coffee and lipbalm. His chest tightened as he thought of Dean’s taste on his lips. He closed his eyes.

Charlie interjected, heated and prickly: “Sam. I know I don’t know you outside of teasing you at work, but maybe being the only straight person in the room, you might want to slow your roll on the rainbows and ‘sexy seduction to the queer side’ narrative.”

“Fuck. Yeah. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, like the hearts and flowers and glitter and rainbows after the rain thing,” he waved his hand. 

“Charlie,” Cas said softly reaching for her hand, “Sam’s no homophobe. I know this as an irrefutable fact.”

“OK,” she whispered. “Sorry, Sam. I’m just tired and worried.”

“You believe him, just like that? You know I’m big and scary, right?” Sam told her, a small, affectionate smile on his face.

She shrugged, “‘course. Cas doesn't ever lie to me.”

“And Dean doesn’t ever lie to me. He may withhold some stuff if he has to, but he’ll never outright lie. And he says he’s in love with you. So, yeah, I’m sorry man. My mouth runs away with me sometimes,” Sam ran his hands through his hair and then settled his face in his hands.

Cas stretched his arm over Sam’s shoulder in a brief side-hug, “it’s fine. We’re all feeling a lot of feelings right now. Let’s just agree to grant each other a little grace.”

Sam chuckled. “You are so different from my brother.”

“Not really. Not so much as it might seem on the surface. Dean and I both feel things deeply, and we feel everything. I’ve spent more time learning to work with my feelings instead of against them than Dean has. But,” and Cas shrugged, “we understand each other.”

“Tell me something else about you have in common with my brother?” Sam asked, just a hint of pleading in his tone.

It was Cas’ turn to smile with affection. “Well, we’re both loyal, we make family wherever we find it, and we’d do anything for our people.”

“Yeah, I love that about him.” Sam smiled, his face soft. “I love how he’d never let me fail or fall or hurt or face something alone.” Cas smiled warmly, thinking about that. He and Dean were already well on their way through world building for themselves, a family, a home, a community. His throat ached at the thought, and his breath caught in his chest as images of those split and bloody lips flooded his vision. Fuck.

Sam watched the emotions cross Cas’ face and the blow hit Sam deeply. Cas and Dean really were in love, Sam realized. In love like he loved Jessica. Forever in love. And Cas was walking the tightrope here. Dean and Sam had been through some shit, and some of it was pretty dark. Not that they talked about it or anything. But Sam knew Dean could survive a hell of a lot. Sam had been here before, but Cas hadn’t. Sam’s heart bled with empathy for his brother’s lover. Sam had to get Cas through this, if not for himself, for Dean’s sake. These idiots needed each other. Time to step in.

Charlie refilled their coffee mugs and checked the four phones in front of her again, even though it wasn’t possible for them to have missed anything.

“Tell me something else about Dean, please? Something I don’t know?” Sam asked, interrupting Cas’ despair spiral and giving Cas the famous puppy-dog eyes. Cas guffawed at that. “Good goddesses, Dean is right! That look should come with a warning label!” Sam just poured it on in response. 

Cas narrowed his eyes. Two could play this game,“why don’t you tell me something about him, instead. Unless you want to hear about how he’s a post-sex cuddler?” 

“OK! OK! Ew!” Sam said slapping his hands over his ears, at least Cas was sufficiently distracted. Charlie snorted coffee and shoulder-checked Sam. Cas knocked Sam’s chin in affection. 

All three of them giggled for a moment, the fatigue and anxiety getting to them. And then they turned their heads as Bobby started banging on the door. “I’m going to have to install a doorbell if this bypassing security thing continues,” Cas muttered rising to open the door.

Bobby pushed past Cas and stormed into the loft all beard and bluster, “Samuel Winchester, what THE FUCK is going on? Where is Jo and that assassin of Dean’s? We told you all to stay here! And now I hear they’ve talked their way past the uniforms I left here SPECIFICALLY so you all would STAY PUT! And BE SAFE!” 

Cas, Charlie and Sam made a little circle in front of Bobby, who put his hands on his hips and glared at them. Face red. Worry and rage blurring together in his eyes.

For a moment, no one said anything. Sam opened his mouth to speak and Bobby held his hand up looking at the faces in the apartment, eyebrows lifting at the faces he couldn’t see. Absent faces.

“Sam,” he asked, slowly, edged with threat, “and think carefully, boy, before you answer this. Sam, where the fuck is your wife?”

“Um...” Sam said hunching his shoulders and making himself look smaller. Smaller than humongous. 

Bobby just stared at Sam, a sick familiarity washing over him. A memory of slouching, teenaged Sam standing in front of him confessing, at Dean’s insistence, to unprotected sex with the Ivy League-bound girl from the Physics Club. Aw shit. What foolhardy thing have they done now? And then Bobby paled and moved to the couch, sitting down heavy and tired. Cas moved to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, and Charlie and Sam sat across from Bobby, just giving him a moment.

“Bobby?” Sam asked, trepidation on his tongue. 

Bobby sighed heavily and accepted the coffee from Cas. He took a sip and then stared into the cup for a moment. Then he placed it carefully on the little side table and looked back up at Sam. “I love you boys, but you’ve got a really bad habit of throwing in at the high stakes tables. Why the fuck can’t you two find some nickel slots somewhere and just be happy? Have some fights with your partners and come sleep on my couch for the weekend? Or, you know, make some babies and distract yourselves worrying about every sneeze and cough? Or, Jesus Christ, at this point I’d settle for your Spring Break misguided choices in Mexico, like bad tattoos and food poisoning. Those were the days,” Bobby said wistfully. Sam cringed.

Charlie raised her eyebrow, but Sam shook his head at her. This was so not the time for her curiosity.

Bobby sighed again, “Sam, do you mean to tell me that you let Jess leave here with Jo and Meg?”

“Bobby, you know I don’t tell Jess what to do.” It was true, as unrelated facts went.

Bobby gave him a sour look as if to say, ‘really, that’s your best play?’ Sam hunched down on the couch again.

“Did they pick up Adam? Are they all together? Or did Adam just coincidentally ditch his detail and run off on his own?”

Bobby looked from Cas to Charlie and then to Sam. “Seriously? You idjits aren’t going to tell me anything?”

“If there were something to tell, Bobby,” Sam began, straightening his posture and looking the older man in the eye, “no one would openly admit to conspiring to subvert an active police operation.”

“Lawyer talk, really son?” Bobby glared at him.

Sam shrugged.

Bobby turned to Castiel, “it’s going to be like that, is it?” Cas shrugged at his as well. Charlie looked at her feet and wrung her hands in her lap.

“Alright, if this is how you’re all going to play it, then I’m just going to sit right here on your fancy couch and drink your fancy coffee and watch what happens next. I aint got nothing better to do.”

“Where’s MK?” Charlie asked suddenly, her head coming up.

“She’s with the car,” Bobby told her. “I didn’t think I’d be here long.”

Cas looked at Sam and saw the shift there as Sam checked his watch. Yeah. “Maybe you’d better tell her to come up,” Cas said.

Bobby sighed then nodded at that and sent a text. Cas stood and walked to the door to open it for when MK arrived. No sense letting someone else pound on the door today. It was giving him a headache.

***  
The petite brunette in an olive green hoodie and jeans sat on the iron bench beneath the mesquite trees at Deck Park. It was a relatively cool and breezy in the shade, although the sun warmed things up a bit. Sitting in the grass at her feet was a slim man in jeans and a black hoodie. Both had sunglasses on and hoods up, which - a reasonable choice in desert. It was either sunglasses and hats every time you stepped outside or cataract and carcinoma surgery by the time you were 40. Your choice. 

Matt, Adam’s former partner with Roman, and Tate, a tall, thick dude who’d been muscle for Roman for several years, scanned the bench and the area around it. “There they are,” Matt said indicating the two at the agreed upon bench.

Tate laughed, “woman had the balls to bring the kid in alive. Idda killed him and just brought the head.”

Matt barked an ugly laugh. “She can’t fuck him if he’s dead.”

Tate snickered, “didn’t Roman say he’d found out the kid is the half brother of that cop? Does the Lady Meg want a matched set?”

“Probably. She’s a kinky bitch.”

Tate snickered again, “sounds like you’re jealous, man. Couldn’t coax her into bed, could ya?”

Matt ground his teeth and changed the subject, “Well, she’s exactly where she said she’d be. We’ve got a clear view in all directions and there’s no one else here. She’s alone. Shall we do this?”

Tate cocked his head to one side, “this is too easy. There’s not going to be a fight or a chase or whining or begging or anything? I like it when they whine and beg.”

Matt put a hand on Tate’s forearm. “I know you do. But Miss Masters is a professional. She does this for a living. She will want it neat and clean and low profile. Which makes it easy for us.”

“No begging?”

“No begging,” he agreed. “OK. We’re doing this.” He pulled out his phone and sent the text to Roman that they had them and were coming in. 

They kept walking, casually, just two dudes in the park on a sunny day.

They were now within 20 feet of the bench and moving closer. Everything was still fine, Matt thought. Except. Even though it was winter, it was still a bit on the warm side to be wearing the gloves Meg and Adam were wearing.

Before Matt could analyze this anomaly, in one smooth motion, “Meg” and “Adam,” raised silenced handguns and shot Matt and Tate in their hearts and foreheads. “Meg” raised her smartphone and snapped one pic of each dead man. Then, “Meg” handed her gun to “Adam,” even as they were already moving away from each other in opposite directions. “Adam” pulled his hood down off his face and walked directly to the jogging path where he began to run. As he passed, he dropped the paper bag with the silenced guns into a trash can. He checked his FitBit and picked up his pace, slipping in behind a clump of college kids running together.

“Meg,” walking with purpose toward the parking lot, unzipped her hoodie, pulled it off and tied it around her waist. The sunglasses she dropped discreetly into a patch of lantana, and her ponytail she pulled out and ruffled the long hair around her face. 

Crossing the street, she took out her phone and placed a call, “it’s done,” she said into the phone, “pics to follow this call,” and with that, she disconnected the call and sent the proof of death pics to Meg’s phone.

From her place in the passenger seat, Meg disconnected the three-second call, and pulled up the incoming pics. She studied them dispassionately for a moment, then Meg smiled at the others in the van, teeth gleaming and predatory. “We’re up,” she told Adam, Jo, and Cole. 

“It's go time.”

***  
Cole drove past the house, then threw the van into reverse and gunned the van backwards up onto the lawn. It bounced over the curb and came to rest a few feet from the front door. Cole, Jo, Adam, and Meg piled out, running for the front door. Jess popped the back doors of the van open and knelt in the back, safety off and gun held loosely in her hands just like Dean and Sam had taught her.

Cole fired the shotgun at the doorknob and deadbolt and then shouldered through the front door, dropping to the floor, coming up on one knee and shooting the first bad guy dumb enough to run into the room in response to the racket. Bad Guy #1’s face blew apart in a rain of pink mist, bits of teeth and brain matter. Adam ran in behind and tacked to his right, Meg came in on Adam’s heels moving to the left. Jo followed, stopping at Cole’s side. Cole lifted his gloved hand and made a motion directly ahead, “kitchen is that way. I’ll hold the door.”

Jo nodded and ran toward the kitchen hurdling the body Cole had dropped in the front room and ignoring the squelch of the bloody carpet.

Adam ducked into the hallway and flattened himself to the far wall. It was darker inside and his eyes needed a moment to adjust. One bad guy stepped into the hallway and dropped instantly as Adam put a bullet through his forehead, a bloody, lumpy smear on the wall where his head had been. Adam darted across the hall, ducking into the entry to the bathroom. A quick look behind the shower curtain, and he’d cleared the small space. He turned the lock and pulled the door closed behind him. One room down.

Adam peered back into the hallway and saw two baddies a split second before they opened fire. Wood splintered and glass shattered as their shots hit the hallway’s wood paneling and light fixtures. Adam felt a tiny cut open on his jaw. He dropped to his knees, leaned back into the hall and shot both men in the legs. Skin shredded and bone splintered. The men screamed in agony. Then, he was up and running toward them, two more bullets into two more brains. Two more puddles of blood soaking into the carpet, and the smell of shit and cordite in the air.

Adam stepped over their bodies and cleared the room, turning the lock and pulling that door closed behind himself. Two more rooms to go. If this small room had been the den, then according to the floor plans Meg had, those would be bedrooms. One would be a master with a bath. Do that one last.

He listened carefully at the bedroom he was sure wasn’t the master and heard a noise from the opposite wall, the closet door he concluded. So Adam rolled into the room and fired eight bullets into that closet door. He swapped out his ammo clip as he waited. He pulled the closet door open as he heard a low moan and wet choking sounds. A man on the floor, knees shattered, legs at sickening angles, and gut shot. The stench was overwhelming in the small space. For a brief moment, he considered leaving him to die in brutal pain. But he was a soldier not a sadist. Even if these men had tortured his brother. He shot the man in the head, a thick wet sound, and headed toward the door, flipping the lock and pulling it closed behind him. 

The master bedroom was disappointingly empty. He cleared the closet and master bath. Nothing. Nothing but designer luggage, tailored suits and shined shoes in the closet. Nothing but flashy cufflinks, sunglasses and watches on the dresser. Nothing but sandalwood-scented men’s toiletries in the bathroom. Roman had been here, but he wasn’t here now. Fuck. He’d wanted to look that guy in the eyes when he died. Well, maybe Meg could tell him what it was like to kill Roman. 

As Adam turned the lock and closed the bedroom door behind him, his mission complete, his focused broadened, sound roaring into his ears like a TV coming off mute, and suddenly he could hear gunfire from the opposite end of the house. He ran toward it.

***

Meg charged into the media room just as the three assholes who had been playing Call of Duty on an XBox dropped their controllers, startled by the shotgun blast. Her vision narrowed. Meg, flawless aim from her rock steady hands, shot two in the face before the third one even got his gun out. She put a bullet through that one’s brainstem. They collapsed to the floor in front of the huge flatscreen, a raw pile of meaty limbs and thick body fluids. Her eyes scanned the room. No one else. A sharp, chemically enhanced jolt of accomplishment went through her. The dining room was to her right, the garage to her left. Amped up brain processing data and discarding decisions on the fly. Garage first. If anyone from the dining room came up behind her, she’d have a garage wall at her back rather than the unknown rest of the house. And Adam could come for her from the opposite direction and catch the bad guys in crossfire.

She pushed the door out to the garage open and someone sent ten bullets in quick succession into the door frame as she hit the floor. Splinters flew over her head and rained into her hair. Somewhere behind her, a picture fell from the wall, shattering glass across the tile floor. Fucking garages! she thought angrily. She listened carefully, from the footfalls she could hear one person out there. She took a deep breath and dove in, sliding behind a car, hitting the floor and shooting into the sneakered feet of the guy across the room. He fell to the cold concrete screaming, feet a ruin of blood and bone. And Meg was up, sliding over the hood of a Jaguar and dropping down behind him. She shot him in the head and dodged the spreading puddle of blood, running back toward the door just as two more guys came through it, probably from the fucking dining room. Ugh. Assholes.

She ducked behind a rolling tool chest as they skulked along the far wall behind a green SUV. Seriously? These guys really were morons. She switched her magazine, and leaned out and hit these fuckers in the feet too. And they too collapsed in screams of pain and horror. Then she was flinging herself back over the hood of the Jag shooting down at them on the fly. She hit one in the head and another in the stomach. From the spreading blood and bone, she knew that bad guy was dead, but the other was still moving. She raised her gun and then thought better of it.

She moved toward him, gun trained on him. “Did you touch Dean Winchester?” she asked him.

He gasped, blood bubbling into his mouth. He spit it at her. She kicked him hard in the side and he hacked and coughed. “DID. YOU. TOUCH. HIM?” She asked, voice hard and commanding.

Dumbass spat out a bloody laugh, “he was a pretty fucker...”

She sneered at him, “just for that, asshole, you’re gonna die slow and messy.”

She patted him down for weapons, then she picked up their two guns and headed back into the house, closing the door on his thick wet moans and sobs.

***

Meg ran into Adam just as they both re-entered the front room. Cole still holding the shotgun at the door. “Clear?” Meg asked Adam. He nodded and looked at Cole who responded, “I’m good here. Go get Jo and Dean.”

Together, Meg and Adam ran toward the kitchen. 

They passed through it and found one man in a heap on the floor, his forehead bashed in, blood spreading across the tile. They stepped over him and kept moving, through the kitchen and into a mudroom where a door was standing open. They could hear screaming coming from inside.

***

Jo sprinted into the kitchen, slid across the floor and smashed right into a bad guy who had been frozen in indecision in the middle of the room. He went down and she fell onto him, grabbing him by the hair and smashing his head hard against the tile floor. It squashed wetly, a sensation that fed her rage. She slashed his throat in case the head injury didn’t kill him, rolled off his dying corpse and kept moving, the validating sounds of gunfire behind her. 

Jo ducked through the mudroom and charged into the storage room crashing into the back of another bad guy. She yanked him by his belt, holding him in front of her as bullets were fired in her direction. His body jerked from the shots and collapsed. She couldn’t hold him up, so she dropped low behind him, yanking his gun and extra clip from his shoulder holster. She thumbed the safety and sent a rain of eight shots in the direction the others had come from as she sprinted across the room, tackling Dean still tied to the chair, and by the looks of it, unconscious, and knocking them both behind the world’s ugliest green and brown plaid hide-a-bed. Leaving Dean there for a moment, she spun and grabbed several boxes labeled “Taxes” and “Records” from a heap against the wall and turned back, piling them on top of the heavy couch. Then she ducked down again, using her knife to cut Dean loose. 

Dean groaned and his chest heaved. “Hey!” Jo whispered urgently, “you with me, Dean?” He coughed and nodded. “OK, hang tight a sec,” she told him.

She popped around the side of the couch and sent four more bullets at where she had the bad guys pinned. Well, technically they had her pinned too, but she’d bet on her backup over theirs any fucking day of the year.

She pulled the chair free from Dean and shoved him into a seated position, wincing as he hissed in pain. “Sorry! Sorry!” she whispered. He leaned against the sofa and rubbed his wrists coughing. More comforting gunfire sounded from elsewhere in the house.

“You’re cornered, little girl. Come out and we won’t kill you. We don’t want you.”

Jo gave Dean a questioning look, “Slick blond” he whispered. “Fucking psycho asshole.”

She raised two fingers and he nodded once in agreement.

She gestured at the gun and raised three fingers. Three more bullets in this weapon. She pointed to the clip, he nodded and flashed ten fingers and then five. She nodded back. They had eighteen bullets. She pulled a knife from its sheath at her hip and handed it to him.

“If you don’t come out now, we will kill you, girly,” another voice shouted, “and we’ll have fun with it too. Just ask Dean-o there.”

“Hired Muscle,” Dean whispered, “dumb psycho fucker.” She nodded.

She popped up over the top of the sofa and sent three bullets in their direction, and from the loud shout of pain, she’d hit Hired Muscle. Asshole.

She dropped back down and swapped out her clip. Hired Muscle was screaming something at Slick blond whose voice had taken on a deeply satirical tone. Were these dumbasses actually arguing with each other in the middle of a firefight? 

Just then, one of the dumbasses sent six shots into the sofa, bullets hitting the springs of the hide-a-bed and shredding the boxes full of paper. They’d be alright here for a bit, but they really needed to move. And Dean wasn’t looking great.

“How many!?” Jo heard Meg shout into the room from over by the door.

The dumbass badguys fired more bullets in Meg’s direction, and Jo popped up and hit Slick blond in the shoulder before dropping behind the couch again.

“Two,” she shouted back, “I’ve hit both of them.”

“Bitch!” Hired Muscle screamed, and then Adam dove into the room and shot Hired Muscle in both knees. He went down howling.

Meg ran in and Adam hopped up, following on her heels, both had their guns raised at the bloodied and broken torturers of Dean. “We got ‘em, let’s go!” Adam shouted at Jo.

She hoisted Dean up with his good arm slung over her shoulders, his other arm hanging at a grotesque angle. She began pulling him slowly toward the door. Meg and Adam looked Dean over and he smiled at them, wincing a little at the tears in his lips. “I thought you two might have left me here to steal my boyfriend from me.”

Adam snorted, “yeah, no. If we didn’t get you out of here, he was going to kill us himself.” Dean chuckled and coughed.

“Where’s Roman?” Meg asked Jo and Adam. “Did you get him?”

“He’s not here,” Dean rasped. “He went out the back the second you all came through the front door.”

Adam paled and Meg’s eyes took on a hardened glint. They had Dean. She could cross that off her list. Roman was a separate line item, and you can bet he was her next one to cross off. She turned to Adam, “I got this. Go help her.” He nodded and slipped in front of Dean and Jo, gun arm moving side to side scanning the path toward the door to make sure it was still clear. They moved together through the mudroom and out of sight.

Meg turned back to Hired Muscle and Slick blond. She frisked them and stacked their weapons in a little pile out of their reach.

They were both swearing and throwing insults at her and each other in between pants and wracking coughs. 

“Shut the fuck up,” she told them, cold as an antarctic winter.

“You hurt one of mine. Now I’m going to hurt you. Do you understand?” She cocked her head.

They resumed swearing. She shot them again, both in their right hip. They squealed and gasped. And then she pulled a wicked looking knife from her spine and slit them both pubic bone to sternum. Blood and bowel spilled.

“Die slow, die bloody,” Meg told them both. Then she turned and bolted after her people. By her watch, they were just at four minutes. 

***  
Jess’ head shot up and her eyes narrowed as Cole came through the door and ran toward the van. He pulled the side door open and began stripping out of his clothes.

Adam came out behind Cole, and he too ran to the van and began collecting weapons and putting them into the duffels. Then he began pulling off his clothes.

Jo came out half carrying Dean who was staggering with one arm over Jo’s shoulder. Jess jumped out of the van, and she and Jo heaved Dean into it and onto the tarp. Then Jo headed over to the boys while Meg, who was right behind Jo and Dean, closed the van’s back doors.

Jess got to work.

Cole rubbed his hair and body with a bath wipe. He threw the soiled one into the duffel and pulled out another one and quickly repeated the process. Then he pulled on a pair of gym shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops. Adam was finishing his own wipedown, so Cole passed him the clothes and headed around to the driver’s seat. He was turning the engine over when Adam hopped into the shotgun seat. Jo and Meg hopped in and Meg pulled the door closed. Meg would finish cleaning up and changing as Cole drove them out of the neighborhood. 

They turned down a residential street and then another. They were well into six minutes when they heard the sirens approaching. “They’re slow,” Adam muttered. “I'll file a complaint,” Jo shot back. Cole turned onto the major thoroughfare passing the police as they turned off the same thoroughfare and into the neighborhood.

***

“Jess,” Dean slurred as she pulled off Sam’s jacket, folded it, and tucked it beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Coughs wracked his body, and he spilt slimy mucus and blood down his chin.

“Jesus, Dean. What …?” She shone a pinlight at his face, studying it closely and noting the irritated skin around his nose and mouth.

“Gross green pool water,” he chuckled, “the chlorine smarts too.” A soft wheeze.

She dug the nebulizer out of the pile on her right and popped the cap off. “Dean, I’m going to spray this in your mouth. I need you to open your mouth and inhale to get it into your lungs, OK?”

“M’kay,” his voice was breathy and low.

She got him to take two good breaths before he coughed hard again, and she wrapped him in her arms and laid him back down. He really needed to be on oxygen. 

“Hey, hey,” she whispered placing a soft kiss on his forehead, “just rest, OK. I’m going to get a better look at these wounds.”

He was wheezing consistently, and his lips were pale. She popped open the plastic case and pulled out a pair of scissors that she used to cut down the middle of his shirt and pull it back from his chest. She leaned in close and pressed softly on the bruises rising over his ribs. At least two of these were broken. Shit.

With a little struggle, Dean raised his right hand and clutched at the front of her shirt, “if ya’ wanted me t’take ma’ shirtoff, all ya’ hadda do was ask, baby girl.” And he laughed a little and began coughing again.

“Shhh shhh,” she told him rubbing a hand comfortingly over his chest. “You’re not well enough to flirt.”

His coughing eased again, and he murmured, “‘m always well ‘nuff.”

She pulled a bottle of sterile water from the kit, opened it, cut the lower hem of her t-shirt off, soaked it in water and used it to mop some of the blood and grime off of Dean’s face. These cuts on his forehead and in his hairline were going to need stitches. The van slewed heavily to the right and Dean hissed as she lost her balance and caught herself with one hand pressing down on his shoulder. “Oh! Sorry! Sorry!”

He whispered through dry lips, “‘sok, jus’ think ‘t’s dislocated again…”

His breathing was more of a struggle now, and she could hear a low rattle every time he exhaled. Shit. The blood sugar meter read 65. “Do you think you can drink a little orange juice for me?”

“No no more drinkin’” he chuckled darkly, stuttering over the syllables. Hmm. Well, get him upright so he can breath first, she thought, then maybe talk him into some juice.

“OK, Dean, this is gonna hurt your ribs and your shoulder, but I’m gonna pull you upright and let you lean against me. It will help your to breathe easier, ok?”

“K” he choked out and then hissed again as she propped herself up against the back of Jo and Cole’s seat and hauled Dean upright, pulling him back against her chest, half lying between her legs. She unfolded Sam’s coat and pulled it over them to keep Dean warm.

A smile quirked over his swollen lips, “and if ya’ wanted me b’tween ur legs…” and he was wracked with coughing.

“Shush, you perv,” she whispered into his ear brushing the hair, sticky with blood off his forehead.

He was breathing heavily now, struggling to pull air into his lungs and push it out again, his pulse was hammering in his wrist. He was cold and clammy. “You need to drive faster!” she shouted up to the front of the van. Then she pulled out her mobile phone and told Siri to call the emergency doctor’s number at St Joe’s.

They answered, short and direct.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Jessica Moore, and I’m coming in with a police officer, male, early 30s, multiple contusions, knife wounds, dislocated shoulder, shortness of breath, probable Respiratory Distress Syndrome, shock ...” and she continued rattling off information as Cole swerved through traffic.

She ended the call and shouted up front, “St Joe’s trauma is expecting us. Drive right up to the emergency entrance where the ambulances go. I’ll hop out with him. Meet me at the desk in the ICU.”

“Got it!” Adam shouted back.

“Come on, Dean,” Jessica whispered in his ear as he collapsed unconscious against her. And then they were stopping and the doors were being yanked open. Adam was helping her lift Dean out and into the arms of people in scrubs with a gurney. Jess, covered in blood and grime, half of her shirt sliced off, ran alongside the gurney into the hospital. Jo ran after them, her badge held out in front of her. “Police Officer!” she shouted as she charged into the Trauma Center with Jess, the docs, and Dean.

***  
Cas’ phone beeped on the counter and he jumped up from the couch, ran to it and yanked it off the charger. He read the text message on the screen, and his phone fell from his open hand to the floor. He dropped gracefully to the floor beside it, legs sliding into lotus.

He spoke quietly, hesitantly, suntanned face drained of color, “we’ve got to get to St Joe’s. They’re bringing in Dean.”

Sam looked down at Cas on the floor, “Cas?”

Cas closed his eyes, breathing in and out through his nose, but Sam could see the small hand motions of Cas tapping his forefinger against his thumb. Counting.

Sam squated down on the floor in front of Cas, “Hey,” Sam whispered softly. He reached a hand out and touched Cas’ wrist, and Cas flinched. Sam took his wrist in hand anyway, “Cas, we gotta go, man. We gotta get you to Dean.”

Cas’ eyes were still closed, “just … I just need …”. He swallowed hard.

Charlie knelt next to Sam, “I get it, Cas. You need a minute to get all that fear and fury back in its box. But we don’t have time now. Come on,” she patted his shoulder, “Sam and I have you.”

Cas nodded. Swallowed again. Opened his eyes, cold fire flickering in them. He rose fluidly to his feet.

“I’ll drive,” Sam told Cas, scooping his keys up from the counter where Jess left them.

“Follow us,” Bobby told Sam, “we’ll lead you in with lights and sirens.”

 

***

Cole parked the van deep in the overflow lot. He, Adam, and Meg got out taking one last look at the interior to make sure everything was bagged up. Meg put the keys in the driver’s side map pocket, then they locked up the doors and closed the van.

“I think this is where we part ways,” Cole told them. Meg nodded, “I think that’s best. Thank you.”

They shook hands, and then Cole shook Adam’s hand. “See you around, kid.” And then Cole stepped back in between a truck and a convertible and disappeared. Adam blinked. Meg huffed in good humor.

“Fucking spy stuff. Teach me that disappearing thing sometime?” Adam asked. Meg snorted and took his hand. “Come on.”

As they walked across the enormous parking lot, they could hear sirens approaching. “You ready for this shitshow?” Meg asked Adam. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and nodded.

St Joe’s Emergency Room was certified as a Level One Trauma Center. And the doctors here treated everything from the run-of-the-mill broken bones of kids who had fallen out of trees to the airlifted victims of catastrophic auto accidents. It was a busy place on any given day, but today, when Meg and Adam came through the sliding doors, the place was in chaos. There were hospital security guards in front of the doors separating the waiting area from the treatment area. Jo, in bloody clothes, her badge clipped visible to the front of her belt at her waist was standing near the nurse’s station shouting into her mobile phone and relaying instructions between a woman in scrubs and whomever was on the other end of her call. The waiting area for Emergency was actually three large adjoining rooms. Two Phoenix PD uniformed officers were moving all the people waiting in the room closest to the treatment area into the other two waiting rooms a little further away. Those people were complaining loudly, but they were moving, especially as the officers were joined by two more uniforms who had just arrived. Security buffer, Meg thought in approval. 

Jo saw them and waved them over to her. “These two!” she shouted at the woman in scrubs before diving back into her phone call. The woman in scrubs handed them badges on lanyards. They said “VIP” on them. Adam shot Meg a questioning look, but she just shook her head and slipped the lanyard over her neck. Jo waved them off, and Meg grabbed Adam’s hand and pulled him off toward the newly cleared waiting area just as Jess burst through the door. She headed over to the nurse’s station, and a man in scrubs there handed Jess temporary doctor’s credentials on a lanyard that she slipped over her neck. She looked around and found Meg and Adam and headed over to them. Jo finished up her call and followed.

Two of the uniforms moved into position to guard the entrance to their waiting area. Adam wondered briefly if they were being held here but Jo squeezed his hand and then turned to Jess, “just tell us.” Jess nodded.

“He got some busted ribs, a dislocated shoulder, some sprains, some torn ligaments. He needs stitches in his scalp, on his forehead, a thigh, a shoulder, some more here and there -- an intern is cleaning those out and stitching those now. They’re going to MRI for concussion and that shoulder later -- they haven't decided if they want to surgically stabilize it. They won't know until they get scans of the damage. They'll bring in an sports surgeon from the university medical school to consult on that shoulder. But that's all for later. The problem right now is his breathing. He’s got a pneumothorax, a collapsed lung, probably from blunt force injury to the chest wall. He’s also probably got a massive respiratory infection from whatever the fuck was in the water they tortured him with. His bronchial tubes are swollen up and not letting him breathe, on top of the problem with his lung. That swelling was probably triggered by infection, stress, and chemical irritants. The docs need to get the lung back online and then work on the inflammation and infection. There are secondary issues too, drug side effects, injury side effects, low blood sugar from stress, which will probably shoot skyhigh when they hit him with all the steroids they’re going to have to pump him with.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she looked at their stricken faces. Her 'Professional Goddamned Doctor' expression slipped and softened into the face of a worried baby sister. “Guys, he’s pretty sick, and in some ways, the meds he needs are going to make him sicker. But this place is the best. They’ve already gained themselves a foothold by intubating him so he can breathe. He can beat this. He’s Dean Fucking Winchester, alright? It’s just going to be a bit bumpy for the next 24 to 48 hours, OK? We all just need to settle in for the ride.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* *clinks wine glasses* *blows kisses*
> 
> (buckle up, bebes. this ride gets bumpy)


	36. Almost Transparent Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything happens, all at the same time, and the only thing that keeps you from going under is the fact that you haven't quite let the pain and the rage catch up with you yet.
> 
> But it always fucking does, eventually.
> 
> No one can run forever.

Commotion at the emergency room entrance drew their attention as Bobby plowed through the doors with MK and a handful of uniforms in a scrum around Cas, Sam and Charlie. Jo ran to Bobby who took one look at her bloody clothes, the spatter across her washed-out complexion, and the plastic evidence bags tucked beneath her arm, and pulled her into a tight hug before passing her to Sam. Then, Bobby was charging toward Adam, who was standing with his hands in the pockets of his cheap gym shorts shifting his feet nervously. Bobby wrapped Adam in a bear hug and a shy smile crossed the younger man’s face.

Sam set Jo down and pulled Jess into his arms. Jo, freed from Sam, began shouting instructions to the uniforms. Meg and Charlie embraced, and then were holding hands as they slid into the background. Cas stood alone, face blank, watching it all. It was too much. Too much of everything. Everyone was talking at once, and a charge nurse strode toward the noisy group. She was tall with warm, dark skin, closely cropped hair, and wide, heavily lashed eyes. The stern look she gave them belied her beauty. “I know you’re all in distress, but I’m going to need you to move to the waiting area we’ve designated. We’re working to get another room set up for you all to camp out here for awhile, but in the meantime, this is still a hospital, so we really need you all to bring the noise level down and move out of our way.”

Jo hopped up on a chair, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and let out an ear-piercing whistle, drawing everyone’s startled attention and a frown from the nurses. All eyes on her, Jo gave everyone the “STFU signal” slash across her throat. They all quieted down. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had an officer in this hospital. Those of you who know the drill, make a buddy with a new kid, and get your shit together. We’ve got to let these docs and nurses do their jobs.” She jumped down from the chair. The uniforms nodded as did the new ones who had just come in through the door. Some of the unit detectives were arriving too. Word travels fast even when you’re keeping news off the open channels. They began pulling each other into quiet huddles and sharing news and assignments. Several of the uniforms spread out in front of the main entrance and the ward doors.

Bobby turned to the nurse and held out his hand, “Lt Bobby Singer. Dean Winchester is under my command.” She shook his hand and replied, “Joyanne St Claire, nice to meet you. Call me Joy. I’m just getting all y’all wrangled. The hospital is sending a liaison down shortly to work with you and your admin people, following the pre-established department protocol. They’re arranging for tables, secure wifi access, and a few cots in a private waiting room upstairs when we move your detective into the ICU. When your liaison gets here, your people will work with our people on ward security and authorizing visitors. In the meantime, you will be using this reception space.” Bobby nodded in agreement, “our admin team will be here soon too.” “OK, then,” she said looking the group over, “I’ll let you get on with it then, except the Admissions Desk needs to see,” she looked down at a post-it note in her hand, “Castiel Novak.”

Sam’s head came up at that, “I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother and emergency contact.”

“Hello, Mr Winchester. As family, when Detective Winchester is moved into the ICU, you’ll be able to sit with him. However, Mr Novak is the name listed as Detective Winchester’s life partner in the system when we verified insurance. Is he here? We need Mr Novak to fill out a few forms, and then he can come up to the ICU with the detective when we move him.”

Cas cocked his head at her, but he didn’t move. He’d been standing with Nguyen and Mack, who were quietly keeping an eye on him. In the couple of days they’d been rotating in and out as security on the loft, they’d come to like Castiel and his friends. They were generous with their food and coffee, and Castiel had loaned them tablets so they could keep one eye on the internet, read each other books, or play music while on duty. And Cas wasn’t acting like himself, at least not the man they’d come to know. Nguyen slipped his hand in the bend of Castiel’s elbow, catching his attention. Cas turned, and Nguyen whispered in his ear. Cas nodded and stepped forward to speak, but Nguyen moved with him, speaking first, “this is Castiel Novak, I’m Officer Nguyen, and this is Officer MacKinnon, you can call him Officer Mack. As his security detail, at least one of us needs to stay with Professor Novak at all times.” Sam looked at Cas speculatively. The nurse gave Nguyen a short nod, “Thank you officer, Professor Novak, please come this way.” But Cas continued to stand, staring.

Life partner. Cas’ brain circled around that. Pre-established police protocols. Personal security detail. At some point, while he had been getting lost in malachite-green eyes and tasting whiskey-sweet lips, Cas had been subsumed into a cop’s family. He now had a responsibility to fit into a structure. But no one had given him the playbook on how to be this, to be a part of this bigger institution, to be a part of a whole. And his brain kept circling around that word - institution. Institution. He was not an institution kind of a guy. Life partner. Police family. Singer-Winchester-Moore family. He was suddenly drowning in it all.

Sam knew how hard Dean and other officers had worked with a task force to get the city to adopt benefits for gay partners. Sam had even gone to a few off-the-books coffee meetings with Dean, some of the other cops, firefighters and paramedics to offer strategic language and general advice. Of course he knew the city council had adopted the policy changes a few years ago. He just hadn’t seen it in action yet. And it was good. Really, it was good. It’s just that he was apparently expected to defer to Castiel on matters related to his brother, when it had just been Sam and Dean for so long. And without Sam and Cas so much as sitting down for a family dinner yet. And Sam knew Dean like he knew himself, but what had Dean told Cas about any of these things? Did Cas know Dean was allergic to penicillin? Did Cas know Dean got super horny on opiates, and that they also made him itchy?

For a moment, Sam was really irked at Dean; he huffed out a breath of frustration and then realized they were all still standing there in the middle of the ER waiting room while Nurse Joy was walking away. Sam turned to Cas and saw the shellshocked look on his face. Without thinking, Sam reached for Cas and pulled him into a hug.

Cas swallowed his panic and grabbed the lifeline he’d been offered, “Sam, would you please come with me? I think I could use your help. “

“Sure, Cas.” Sam whispered, rubbing soothing circles into Cas’ biceps, “let’s go get this handled.” Nguyen nodded at them both, and gestured for them to follow Nurse Joy toward a set of cubicles that made up admissions. He fell into step behind them.

“Professor Novak?” Jess asked Mack who shrugged, “he got the offer letter delivered this morning and sent it back with a courier we had to let up to the loft. I already texted his name to my sister so she could register for his classes.” Jess smiled and Mack’s freckled cheeks heated slightly, “what? I’m a big brother. Novak is a good guy, and if he looks out for his students even a fraction as well as he looks out for friends, she’ll be just fine.” Jess clapped him on the shoulder, and then tugged him in the direction of the waiting room chairs. She needed coffee, and it looked like Mack needed it too. She’d wait with Charlie and Meg until whomever the cops had assigned to get the coffee showed up -- someone was always on coffee duty with this lot.

Deputy Chief Anita Richardson and her driver strode into the ER, and MK, cool pink flush high on her fair skin, hustled over to the door to walk with them. They headed straight to where Bobby was still talking quietly to Adam, one hand firmly attached to his shoulder.

“Bobby,” Anita said shaking his hand, her expression professional, but her eyes warm with concern.

“Anita,” he replied, “good to see you.” Then to Adam: “do you mind waiting over there for a bit?” Adam looked between Anita and Bobby and felt a sudden and intense desire to find Meg.

“How’s Winchester?” Anita asked after Adam had walked off to sit with Meg and the others. She was dealing with first things first.

Bobby filled her in on the situation -- better than it could have been, worse than anyone would like it to be. He let her know Jo has snapped several photos of Dean with her phone while they were working on him in the ER, and she’d supervised the bagging of his clothes and sent a forensic team to the house where Dean was held. An investigation had been opened, and its case file number had been added to the medical records. Bobby glanced at MK who pulled Richardson’s driver over to a grouping of chairs, and then they sat down together so she could give him the report numbers, crime scene address, and other information.

“And do we know what happened out there?” Anita asked with a frown.

Bobby shook his head in the negative. “I know that Dean was being held in a house in the Paradise Valley/Arcadia area. I know he was tortured by parties unknown in the employ of one Richard Roman, the subject of Dean’s investigation. I know that Dean was driven up to the ER doors in a black van with his sister-in-law, Dr Jessica Moore. I know that she administered first aid at the scene, called ahead to alert the trauma center she was coming in with a cop, and then she filled the docs in on some things once they got here, but all of that is privileged and hasn’t been conveyed to me. I know that there are bodies down at that house, and none are ours. Once I heard that, I told Jo and Adam not to speak to anyone or say anything else, and they handed me Sam Winchester’s business card. Apparently he’s their representation, at least until the union sends someone over, and probably after as well.” Richardson raised an eyebrow at that last bit of news, but Bobby wasn’t finished. “Oh, and I just found out that Castiel Novak is listed on Dean’s insurance as his life partner. Did you have something to do with that?”

Anita’s eyes narrowed. “He sent a request to update all his personnel records with one of his regular reports to me, and I expedited it given that he was undercover on an important case, I thought it was the least I could do. Department policy, as you know, says he doesn’t have to be legally married or heterosexual to be considered benefit-eligible partners, and Winchester and Novak share a physical and mailing address.”

“Anita, I wasn’t questioning or criticizing. I was just going to thank you.”

She softened her expression, “same sex partner acknowledgment and benefits for city employees was a hard fought battle, and when we finally got the policies in place, the state legislature tried to end run us by making it illegal in the state. I’m probably still very sensitive about it, Bobby.”

“Me too, Anita.”

She cleared her throat. “Bobby, I need to contain this situation. I’ve got some things in the works, but this is going to be a hell of a mess no matter what. I’m heading over to that house to personally supervise the confidentiality of the investigation, and the chief’s office will handle any media requests. The party line will be that we’ve got a decorated detective fighting for his life, and we cannot and will not jeopardize the investigation, or his recovery, by commenting on the story.”

He nodded, mouth set in a straight line.

“Keep your people quiet, Singer.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“The family liaison officer, Will Park, will be here soon to help out. He’s very good. Let him handle everything. Tell Novak to put everything on Park. And tell him he’s got all of us behind him. Whatever he needs.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“And Bobby,” she paused and looked him in the eyes, “get things up and running here, and then go home to Ellen. You need your family. Take Adam with you if he’ll go.”

He exhaled heavily, “yes, ma’am.”

***

Cas wasn't surprised to find that Dean had a living well and medical power of attorney on file that named Castiel. It wasn't any more surprising than anything else at this point. This was expected of him, and he would deal with it. He did defer to Sam for most of the admit questions, though. This is how he learned that Dean's prescriptions list was current, that Dean was apparently allergic to penicillin, and that all Dean’s health records were up to date. The admit admin said that the triage nurse had listed Jessica Moore as Dean’s PC, but that the hospital database had her speciality listed as ObGyn. Sam explained Jess was Dean’s sister-in-law and had ridden in with Dean and probably given her name during the triage. The admin nodded and said she’d populate the GP record from the city’s insurance header record, and Cas could change it later when Dean woke up if Dean wanted it changed. Sam picked up a pen from a cup on her desk and wrote a note “GP?” on his hand. Cas felt the skin on his own hand burn. Was he supposed to have done that? A thick, dull throb started in the back of his head, nested in the ups and downs of panic and relief, laid eggs of unresolved, unlodged anger and self doubt. Cas provided their current address, his photo identification, and then handed over a platinum Visa, when asked. This he was good for. This, and what else?

He signed a financial responsibility form. “Jess and I can take care of that, Cas,” Sam told him, nodding at the financial form. “Dean said something about you living on less cash than he earns?”

“It’s fine, Sam,” Cas told him, voice flat. No, he was going to do this the way it was expected of him.

“No, really, Cas. Jess and I have the finances to cover this, and he’s my brother.”

Cas ignored Sam and looked back up at the admin, “where is the organ donor paperwork?”

She looked up from her monitor for a moment and then went back to clicking screens, but then she looked up again, an apologetic lilt to her tone, “I’d assumed he had one on file, as police officers almost always do, but I don’t see it here.”

“OK, let’s file that now then.”

“Cas …,” Sam began, “you don’t have to --”

And then Cas interrupted, “he gave me medical power of attorney to deal with these kinds of things for him.”

“But you don’t have to deal with the non-essential ones right now.”

“Better to do it all now,” Cas said. Sam gave him a confused look -- Cas was some weird mix of closed off and highly emotional. Sam was finding it hard to keep up.

The admin looked between the two men and crossed her hands in front of her keyboard to wait this out. Sam reached over and squeezed Cas’ knee and then asked her, “is there anything else we can do now?”

“I've updated his records to indicate he's an organ donor. If Professor Novak will sign here,” she pushed a tablet screen and stylus in front of him, “and initial here and here,” on these consents for MRIs and lab work, I’ll print his copies and put them in a folder with the rest of his paperwork so he can carry it with him.

Cas signed where he was told, papers were printed, collected and put into a file. While he was doing that, she spoke quietly into her headset, listened for a moment, and then looked up at the two men, “They’re about to move Detective Winchester to ICU. Joy here will take you to him, and you can go up with him and sit with him for awhile. The ICU nurses on the ward will talk to you more about visitation rules and other important information.” Cas nodded and rose from his chair, taking Joy’s offered elbow. Then he hesitated and turned to Sam, “As soon as I figure this out...”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Sam said gesturing with Cas’ paperwork folder, “stay with Dean. The hospital is going to be moving all of the cop shop types plus family up to a private waiting room off the ICU in a few minutes. It’s how they keep things going when one of their officers is in the hospital. When you’re ready, just tell one of the nurses, and they’ll come get me.”

“Thank you,” Cas whispered and then allowed himself to be led off through the secure doors into the ER ward. Sam watched them go and gave a heavy sigh.

“Mr Winchester,” the admin spoke softly, “does your family have a minister you’d like us to call? Otherwise, the hospital chaplain will assign herself to your group.” Sam stared steadily at her for a moment, his head cocked to one side, considering. Then he straightened to his full height.

“You ask me that instead of Castiel because I’m straight?” his voice cool.

She had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Jesus loves everyone,” his voice crackled like ice, “he loves queers like my brother and Castiel. Jesus was a servant, like Cas the teacher is a servant, and my brother the cop is a servant. And speaking of servant cops, a police chaplain will be here to sit with our family soon. Count on it. So, yeah, we don’t need you.” Sam pivoted to walk away, hesitated a moment and turned back, “for what it’s worth, if Dean needed anyone’s approval, and he sure as hell doesn’t. But if he did, it would be that of Ellen, our matriarch. And he’s had her approval and her love his entire fucking life. You, however, well, you’d better hope I don’t tell Ellen about you.” And Sam stalked off in search of his wife. Nguyen smirked at the admin for a moment and then followed after Cas. Sam walked back to where Jessica waited with their other friends and family and a growing knot of uniformed and plainclothes officers.

***  
“Your husband is pretty out of it,” Joy said squeezing Cas’ bicep, her voice close to his ear.

“He’s not … “ Cas began and then let it go before the whole thing drowned him again.

“He’s not able to talk with the breathing tube in. They’ll take it out when his ability to breath on his own is a little more predictable.” Joy kept talking in the same low, steady voice, his hand looped through her elbow, her hand on his bicep like she thought he might flee. He figured she was experienced in this and fleeing sounded pretty good.

“We’re going to wait at this elevator, Mr Novak, and look, they’re bringing him to us now.”

“Please, call me Cas,” he managed to whisper though his throat was suddenly dry as two men in scrubs, with another woman walking alongside, came down the hall with someone on a wheeled bed. Someone who was covered in heavy blankets and many tubes and wires, with equipment trailing along behind. Someone who surely looked too small to be Dean. Dean, his Dean, was big and wide and strong, this was a narrow lump of blankets. This was something broken looking. He heard a whimper and thought it might be himself. Joy’s fingers tightened on his arm as she leaned away from him to press the call button on the elevator.

I need Jessica, Cas thought. I need Sam. I need Charlie. I need to not be here.  
I need to not be here.  
I need to not be here.

The elevator arrived and the doors opened, and Joy pulled him through into the elevator, Nguyen in tow, and held the button for the doors while Dean was wheeled in. The woman in scrubs smiled at Cas, but her hair was disheveled and something orange was smeared on her cheek. Disinfectant, his brain told him. It also told him this was a big fucking elevator lit up with bright, white lights. Not the intimate, sexy elevators from Dean’s doctor soap opera.

The woman in scrubs was talking to him. Dr Stevens. They were headed up to the ER. Dean was stable. She was going to hand him off to the ICU team, and Cas could stay with Dean there. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved that she wasn’t going to bombard him with information about Dean’s condition, or if he was desperate for it.

“We’re going to wait here for a minute,” Joy told him and she tugged on his arm and the three of them - nurse, boyfriend, and bodyguard - waited outside the doors of the ICU while Dean was wheeled in. “They’re going to transfer his oxygen and other monitors to the monitors here, and they’re going to put him in a different bed than the one they brought him up in. It’s specially designed for ICU, and he’ll be more comfortable in it.” Cas nodded. “You’re OK, hon,” Joy whispered close to his ear again. He looked at her, puzzled. She smiled warmly. “Your skin is tanned but your face is pale. Your hands are cold. It’s shocking and scary, but you’re going to be OK. Everyone is going to take very good care of your husband.” Cas swallowed again. Not his husband. If they’re wrong about that, are they wrong about their ability to take good care of him? Isn’t it Joy’s job to lie to him? Nguyen patted his shoulder.

The people in scrubs wheeled the empty bed out, and then Joy caught the door and ushered Cas and Nguyen into the ICU ward. Cas looked around, surprised. It wasn’t what he’d come to expect from watching Dr Sexy episodes with Dean.

It was a large square. There was a hub in the middle that had modern looking workstations and ergonomic chairs. There was very little of the printouts, files and paperwork he associated with doctors here. But there were charging stations built into a bookcase in the hub where a number of laptops and tablets were stored like books. All around the edges of the hub were small rooms with glass walls and sliding doors. There were patients in at least half of the beds and the doors were kept closed. There were lights above the doors and panels in the walls. Room numbers, two feet high, were acid etched along the lower quarters of the glass. Cas’ steps stuttered. “Not what you expected?” Joy asked with a warm smile.

“No?” Cas answered looking around at what should have been a science fiction set.

“It was updated a couple of years ago. All the latest medical technology.” She waved to the hub, “The desk in the middle is for the nurses on the ward on shift. Feel free to speak to any of them. These tall counters with high tech looking barstools,” she pointed again, “are for doctors to update medical records, make phone calls, confer with each other, and so on. I wouldn’t speak to them unless they talk to you first. They’re over there to protect patient privacy.” He nodded. He was just going to keep nodding.

Joy stopped at the middle desk in the hub and introduced Cas to Marisol, the charge nurse for the ICU ward this shift. She shook his hand and passed him and Nguyen each a laminated card on a lanyard with their photos that were taken in admissions by the admin. They had a QR code on the other side. He vaguely remembered Sam whispering something about security when she pointed a webcam at him. Marisol told them that the QR code would scan on the ward doors. They would update the QR record in the system if access updates were needed, like if Dean were moved to a different ward. Cas nodded by rote. Then she attached a medical bracelet to his wrist like the ones they put on patients. He looked at it, confused. It read, “Spouse of Patient: Dean Winchester ICU.” She told him to call her Mari, and then she she took his arm from Joy who gave him a quick hug and promised she’d pray for Dean.

Mari walked Cas and Nguyen over to ICU07. Nguyen grabbed one of the empty chairs, set it next to the door and dropped down in it, “I’ll be here until I'm relieved,” he told Cas and Mari. She thanked him and then slid the door open, and Cas got his first real look at Dean. It didn’t look like Dean. Didn’t look like a complete stranger either. The mass of bruises, swelling, bandages, and stitches; the oxygen tube and the intubation tube - it all balanced somewhere between close and strange, own and foreign. It balanced right there on the miniscule tipping point of complete heartache. But Cas couldn’t do heartache right now. He had to do this. He had to nod, and sign, and be a part of an institution. The heartbreaking part was pretty much all he could see because the rest of Dean’s body was wrapped tightly like a burrito in heavy, soft blue blankets. A vivid, full-bodied memory of Dean’s opinion about being wrapped tightly in bedding punched through him and he almost went to his knees with it. _Laughter like water. Dean’s calloused hands and impatient frustration. Hitting the floor in a snare of teeth and desire, the breath knocked out of him by their common need_. “Fuck.” Mari’s comforting arm wrapped around his waist, catching him, and she steered him toward a comfortable-looking reclining chair at Dean’s bedside.

The remembered feeling of Dean’s mouth reverberated across his skin. Mari continued pointing out things he needed to know, her professionalism giving him cover until he could reign himself in. She pointed to a small closet in the wall, “there are blankets and pillows in that closet you can use, and this chair folds out entirely to make a bed. You can sleep here and stay as long as you like. He’s not in isolation. But for now, there can only be one of you at a time, and visitors have to be cleared through the security the police and hospital staff are working on implementing now. It’s for his protection.” Cas nodded yet again. Mari continued, “once that’s set up, we’ll get everyone moved into a private waiting room you passed just outside the doors to this ward. We’ll let you know, and then you can trade off with another member of his family or his partner.” Cas met her eyes in agreement. In the back of his mind a voice told him Jo should be here. Jo was Dean’s institution.

Mari was saying something else, but Cas couldn’t hear her anymore, because Dean’s eyes had flickered open, and Cas was caught up in that warm, green gaze. Disoriented, but not completely. Cas moved toward the bed and began patting the blankets trying to feel for Dean’s hand. Mari said something about how one of his arms was immobilized until the MRI and surgical consult, but Cas kept patting because what the fuck, where the fuck was Dean’s hand, he had to hold Dean’s hand. Dean turned his face to Cas, slow and careful with pain and drugs, and that got Cas’ attention. He oh so gently brushed his fingertips over Dean’s bruised cheekbone. Something came into a sharper focus in all that green. An effort towards clarity within a thick haze. Then Dean’s lashes fluttered, and a tear slipped down from the corner of his eye, ran down his cheek. Without thinking, Cas caught it on his index finger. Still without thinking, he slipped the finger into his mouth. Dean’s tears didn’t taste salty. They didn’t taste like Dean. They tasted like ash on his tongue.

He turned to Mari who was carefully tunneling through the blankets to free Dean’s hand so Cas could hold it. “He’s very cold. We’re pumping fluids and medication into him, and they’re cold and it’s making him cold. The trauma to his body is making him cold. The fever he’s running is making him cold. You can hold his hand to keep it warm, but be sure to tuck it back in if you’re not holding it. Some of these blankets are heat retaining, and others we warm manually. Periodically, we’ll come in and check his comfort level and bring in newly warmed blankets. But if he gets too cold in the meantime, call one of us.”

She guided Cas into the chair and then tugged the arm of the chair. It rolled easily closer to Dean’s bed. “Don’t forget to set the brake on the chair when you decide to take a nap. Oh, and before you even object, we will be bringing you regular meals so long as you’re sitting with him so you don’t have to leave. And there’s a small bathroom through the door next to the closet.” Cas nodded again, as Mari placed Dean’s hand in his. “Would you like me to bring you a tablet? It has a library of books on it if you want to read or you want to read to him. And the remote for the television is here. This is your panic button. Don’t be afraid to use it.” Cas nodded and nodded again. Mari gave him a small smile and a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

Then she turned to Dean, “Detective Winchester, I’m Mari, one of your nurses. You’re in the ICU. We’re still waiting on the results of some of your labs and scheduling you for imaging for your head, shoulder, lungs, and knee. As has already been explained to you, we want to get you breathing on your own as soon as we can. But for now, I need you to rest and let us take care of you. For the time being, you’re getting your pain meds in your IV with several other medications.” She pointed to the bags hanging behind his bed out of his range of vision, but Cas looked up at them and smiled so Dean knew he’d seen them. “They’re going to make you feel pretty tired. And we’re sorry about the catheter. It comes out as soon as you can breathe better and take the few steps to the bathroom with help. Sleep when you can because we’ll be in and out of here a lot. We’re sorry about that. Please push your call button if you or Cas need anything.” And she was slipping out the door sliding it closed behind her. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed, and his head relaxed back into the pillow. He was asleep.

Cas had a fleeting hope that maybe this was a nightmare, and he’d wake up. Maybe he was in Dean’s nightmare and Dean would wake up. One of them should wake the fuck up. He felt like he was freezing, sinking and suffocating right alongside Dean. Gods he wanted out of here. Gods he was fucking tired. He slid down in the chair, fingers laced with Dean’s and closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

He was running down the basement hallways of the Sociology building at UCDavis chasing Dean. And Dean was too fast. Cas pushed himself harder at each turn, lungs burning, quads and hamstrings too, but Dean was still always out of reach. He tried yelling for Dean to stop, but his mouth filled with water and no words came out. Dean kept turning around blind corners. Cas ran and ran, but the hallways kept stretching out in front of him. He had to get to Dean. Why did he have to get to Dean? There was a fire. The alarm was echoing off the walls, swallowing the sounds of his footfalls. The fluorescent light threw confusing shadows, and Cas kept falling farther behind. A hand reached for his, and Cas jolted awake as he was being pulled from the chair by Mari.

From his nightmare to this nightmare, Cas tumbled. The alarm was going off in Dean’s ICU unit. People in scrubs were swarming Dean. Someone started CPR, and Cas was shoved out of the room. Another someone, Nguyen probably, pulled him out into the hallway and shoved him into the private waiting room that was being set up with tables and cots. Someone steered him towards a freshly made up cot and tried to get him to lie down. He had no time to lie down. His entire world was on fire. His entire world was sinking. Cas lost time, moments or minutes, fingers stubbornly clinging to the doorjamb, although no one was any longer pulling him towards the cots. He stood in that doorway, in his burning, sinking world, for what felt like an entire day, until Dean was being wheeled past him, back down the hall, and people were running. Mari stopped to tell him there was internal bleeding and Dean was going into emergency surgery and someone would find him as soon as they knew anything.

An emergency exit sign over a door blinked at Cas. He took the stairs until his lungs were burning as much as they had in the dream. He had to get out of here.


	37. That My Love is Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, people. Love is savage and sublime. The same love that guts you can also save you. The same love that binds you together can tear you apart. 
> 
> Love is the beautiful drowning. 
> 
> For our heroes who love so deeply and so differently, this chapter is about trying to figure out how to tread water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! An update, and it hasn't even been a week since the last one! Sorry about that last cliffhanger! (Not really; we revel in our evil deeds).
> 
> I'm pretty proud of this chapter. It isn't the sexiest or the most gut wrenching, but a lot of nuance is woven in here. Hope you enjoy it.

Jess, Adam, Charlie, and MK huddled together around one of those bulk boxes of coffee the bagel places let you buy and takeaway. Sam stepped up behind Jess and slipped his arms around her waist, pressing his nose into her hair and breathing her in. But instead of her comforting scent of sunlight and turkish delight, he smelled bitter coffee and the metallic bite of iron. He stiffened. Fear and anger crawled up from deep in his gut and demanded his attention. Dean. Jess was covered in Dean’s blood. He was so grateful she’d gone with the others to get his brother back, but those sticky splotches caused rage to flame up through his chest at the scent of Dean’s blood in her hair and on her skin. Someone took and broke his brother. And covered his wife in the residue. His hands balled into fists on their own volition.

He swallowed hard and took a step backward, carefully turning Jess’ by her shoulders to get a good look at his wife. Her face had been scrubbed clean, but there was dried blood in the blonde curls piled on her head, and the front of her cut up tee and jeans were spattered with blood and other fluids he didn’t want to think too closely about. Her picked up her hands and studied them, they were clean, but there was blood spatter flaking away from higher on her arms. Her exposed, lithe belly, visible beneath the remains of her sliced up shirt, was marked with patches of dried blood and gore. “Is any of this yours?” he asked her quietly, his voice breaking.

“Sam?” she looked up into his honeyed eyes that were shimmering with unspilt tears.

He cleared his throat. “Are you hurt at all?” he tried again, brushing her hair with his hand, his own fingers tracing where she must have run her messy hands through her hair. Her nervous tic a mirror of his own.

She looked down at herself. At one point, when she was helping to shift Dean in the ER and holding his hand while relaying info to triage, someone had handed her a paper tunic, and she’d pulled it over her dirty clothes. But she’d yanked it off and tossed it in the hazmat bin on her way out of the ward, just out of habit. She saw herself for a moment through Sam’s eyes and realized she was a mess. A disaster, really. Funny how everyone else had been too preoccupied to mention it. Well, this was Dean’s party, not hers.

“Baby, I’m fine. Look,” she extended her arms to her sides, and turned in a slow circle, “see? I’m just fine.”

Sam studied the long, clean lines of her body. She was kind of a trainwreck, but he’s seen her look worse, technically. It calmed him, briefly, until that stabbing feeling in his gut reminded him that he hadn’t even seen Dean yet. Inside his own head, he had a wild moment, where he demanded she take him to Dean. Right. The fuck. Now. He ducked his head and scrubbed roughly at the back of his neck; pushed his own hair back behind his ears. Breathe. Breathe.

She watched him carefully, eyes flicking from the tremor in his balled up fist, to his rapidly rising and falling rib cage, to the pulse pounding in his throat. “Sam,” her soft voice drew him out of his rapidly darkening mood, “do you need to go walk around the hospital? Get some air?”

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Jess studied his face, nodded slowly. “I’m probably going to find a nurse and see if I can’t get a shower and a change of scrubs, ok?” she asked.

“Yeah, OK. That’s a good idea.”

Jo was apparently listening because she turned to Jess, “I’ll go with you, and you can hand me your clothes. I’ll put them in an evidence bag.” Jo gestured to herself, already clad in scrubs from where she’d surrendered her own clothes.

Jess hesitated, “I’m a doctor, I have patient confidentiality with Dean, and I’m not evidence.”

Jo gave Jess a taut smile. “Dean’s body is evidence, and you’re wearing some of him.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. But Jo continued, “I’ll wait on the Deputy Chief’s call as to whether we enter your clothes into the record. But better to collect them and have them on hand, than go to trial and wish we had them later.”

Jess turned to Sam and shrugged her shoulders in question. His forehead wrinkled, and he stared at the wall for a moment. The need to use his expertise actually helped settle his storming emotions. Then he said, “yeah, OK. Take her clothes, Jo. We’ll deal with any consequences for Jess as they come up. But the Samaritan law gives Jess a lot of cover for treating Dean without engaging the crime itself.” Jo grunted in agreement.

“It looks like Nurse Joy is back,” Jo indicated with a jerk of her head in the woman’s direction.

MK stepped into the conversation, “they’re almost done setting up the waiting room, we can go up together, and maybe you can use the little shower in Dean’s room. When I texted Nguyen to ask if I should run over to the loft to pick up a change of clothes for Castiel, he texted back that there were spare scrubs in the closet in Dean’s room and a little bathroom with a shower. Apparently, it’s like the smallest, most scifi hotel room ever. He and Mack are calling it Mars Base One.” She smiled, pleased with the nerd humor.

“Why are they calling it that?” Jo asked. Puzzled.

“Oh, you know, because Phoenix is a barren hellscape, and there's a high tech hotel…” MK faded out as she looked from one puzzled face to another.

“It was funny at the time!” she defended,

Jo snorted.” Nguyen is single and cute, but that doesn't mean you have to laugh at his weirdo sense of humor.”

MK blushed darkly while Sam added, “I dunno, I think I need to get a closer look here.”

“At the cute guy or the space hotel?” Jess asked, expression serious.

Jo laughed first, then Sam, and finally Jess cracked, causing MK to blush deep purple, “stop picking on me!”

“Guess you're a Winchester now, kid,” Sam smiled warmly ruffling the young woman’s hair. He was feeling better. They were fine. Dean was in good hands. They were all going to be just fine. Everything is fine. “Besides, I thought you liked Charlie.”

“Oh my god,” MK moaned into her hands. Jo just giggled, and Jess rolled her eyes fondly at Sam’s meddling. At least he was relaxing a bit.

While MK, Jess, Jo and Sam were talking, the rest of their large and ever-growing group had collected coffee, bags, coats, and various other items the police had brought in and were carrying them off toward the elevator that would take them up to the ICU floor. “MK, maybe you should wait until we all get up there and see if you can get Cas’ attention for a minute. There might be things he wants from the loft, and then you can go and come back, and then we can figure out a schedule where one of us is here with Cas while the rest of us rotate home for showers, food, and to pack overnight bags for ourselves,” Sam said, ticking items off on his fingers. “I need to schedule coverage for the shop anyway, Jess? Can you take a few days off?”

Jess squeezed his hand in agreement, and then she hesitated, “does anyone know where Meg is? Right after we came in, I saw her limping and favoring her right side, and I wanted to make sure she was OK.”

Jo rubbed her nose absently, “um, I’d seen her with Adam for a bit, but then he and Bobby were heading toward the elevator together with Charlie, and I didn’t see her go up with them.”

“OK,” Jess sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’m wiped. Let’s get upstairs, get me cleaned up and my clothes to Jo, we can all make our calls, and then someone remind me to check on Meg if I forget.”

“Right,” said Sam tugging her hand to get their group headed in the direction of the elevators. “We’re all pretty tired and fried, so let’s stick close to each other and take care of one thing at a time, OK?”

“Dr Moore!” Nurse Joy’s soft alto had taken on the weight of command.

Their group halted together as Joy approached them, her face set in a mask of professional distance.

“I’ve been asked to tell you that Detective Winchester is being taken into emergency surgery.”

“What happened?” Jess asked, her Professional Goddamned Doctor face slamming down and replacing the tired expression she’d worn just a moment before.

“His heart slowed rapidly, and then it stopped. Just briefly. They got it going again right away, but his abdomen was rigid and ---”

“Shit. He’s bleeding internally.” Jess’ voice was sharp.

Sam let go of her hand and turned his back on the group, breathing sharply, willing himself to stay calm. But Dean’s heart had stopped. His brother’s heart. Had. Stopped.

Jess reached out on autopilot to pat Sam’s back. She was worried too. She just had professional expertise in compartmentalizing.

“Yes, doctor” Nurse Joy said: “He’s being given blood, and they’re going in now. As you know, they’re going to need to explore a bit before they can be sure what they’re dealing with, but someone will update your group regularly.”

“OK.” Jess breathed. “OK. Let’s get upstairs.” Nurse Joy turned and hurried off back into the ER.  
“Sam, babe, we have to go upstairs.”

“Wait,” Jo snapped. “How did the ER miss this?”

“They probably didn’t,” Jess told her. “They have to prioritize. First, they deal with head injuries and breathing problems. And then everything else. That’s why they stabilized his shoulder instead of fixing it right away. They’re going to do scans of several of his injuries, but breathing comes first. IF he’s bleeding from, say, his spleen or his liver, those kinds of things don’t always show up on initial exam. They may take awhile before the symptoms really manifest. That’s one of the reasons Dean was in the ICU, they were dealing with his breathing while they continued to wait on labs and schedule tests assessing for injuries and problems that were secondary in priority.”

Sam was listening to his kickass of a fucking wonderwoman wife calmly explain to Jo what was happening, letting the certainty of her tone guide him back into functioning sanity.

“Well, it sounds like this fucker is a priority now,” Jo huffed.

“It is,” Jess agreed. Sam turned back around and took her hand.

MK made an awkward sound and then asked, “I don’t want to sound stupid, but is this serious? Like, dangerous? Because it sounds pretty bad.”

“It’s not good,” Jess agreed. “I told you it would be a bumpy ride for a day or two. I probably should have explained more thoroughly.”

“You did fine, baby,” Sam said wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “this is terrifying; you explaining everything makes it barely manageable.” Jo agreed, “I’m really glad you’re here, Boo.” MK nodded in agreement.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up though and see if there’s anything we can do for Cas,” Jo added. And their group got into the elevator.

They were quiet on the ride up, drawing comfort from each other, and when they got off on the ICU floor, they steeled themselves to be strong for Castiel. Because he must be freaking out so much right now. To get a glimpse of banged up Dean only for him to be torn back out of his reach in an emergency.

But when they approached the private waiting room, they could hear rising commotion. They picked up the pace and entered together, and once they became visible in the doorway, the entire room fell silent..

“Uh,” Mack said and rubbed his hands together awkwardly.

“He’s not here” Nguyen said. Charlie was standing with the two cops wringing her hands. Castiel was missing and not answering his phone.

“What,” Sam said, anger rising back up. “What.”

“Maybe he got scared?” Charlie offered weakly: “maybe he went back home?”

“Or he’s freaked out somewhere in this hospital, I’ll see if we can have some uniforms search the campus here for him” Jo said.

Sam nodded. Freaked out. Ok. He could … he could understand that. Maybe. Jess squeezed his hand.

“Let’s go check his place?” she asked?

“I’m going to stay here with these guys and finish setting up the secure network. I’m, uh, working on something," Charlie told them. Jo nodded at that, but Sam was puzzled. This was Castiel’s best friend. Shouldn’t she be jumping into finding him? But, Charlie just wrung her hands for a moment, then turned and hopped back toward where a couple of technical types were setting up laptops on a folding table at the back of the room. “I’ll stay here and help out Charlie and answer the phones for Bobby,” MK told them, looking around the room for Bobby, and then following Charlie across the room after not seeing Bobby among the cops.

Nguyen and Mack said they’d go check out Cas’ place, and Jo and Jess agreed, saying they’d follow in Jo’s car. Jess pulled on Sam’s arm and tugged him back out of the room, while he was still staring at Charlie’s back.

But before they could get themselves back down the hall and into the elevators, they passed Adam and Bobby, having a badly concealed argument between the potted palms just outside the waiting room entrance. Adam’s face was rigid in fury, and Bobby looked like he was trying to talk the younger man down.

“Bobby!” Sam called as he pulled Jess and Jo over to where Adam and Bobby were staring each other down, “what the hell happened?”

Bobby sighed and looked at his feet as Adam drew a deep breath, then wheeled on Sam: “Apparently, Dean’s heart stopped while Cas was in the room with him, and the docs and nurses swamped Dean, like they’re supposed to.” Adam’s arm gestures were wide and Jo took a step back. “And Nguyen got Cas out of the way, and then lost track of him. And like I’ve been telling Bobby here, this is why I was supposed to be looking out for Cas! He doesn’t know any of these people!” Adam waved his hands at the various cops and detectives moving up and down the hall, “And we’ve pretty much just stormed into his life and taken over. And Dean’s not able to buffer him. If I didn’t already know how having a cop in the family worked, I’d have run too!”

“Son, you need to --”

“Dad! Don’t tell me what I need!” The other conversations in the room abruptly halted, and everyone turned toward the doorway to look at Adam, but he either didn't notice or didn’t care. “I should have gone with Mack and Nguyen,” he gestured at the retreating backs of the officers as they stepped into the elevator down the hall.

“They are just ---”

“He’s at the loft. Of course he’s at the loft. He’s probably sitting on the patio smoking a joint or on the floor of his closet drinking the good tequila," Adam huffed.

Jo scoffed. Sam’s focus narrowed, “of course. That hippie asshole. Of course.” Sam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled slowly.

“Sam?” Jo asked, “do you know something about where Cas went?”

He huffed in frustration, “right. Like, I’d know anything about that fucker who just walked out on my brother in a crisis.”

“Hey! He’s not like that,” Adam choked out glaring up at Sam.

“Oh, he’s exactly like that,” Sam shot back. “This is exactly like Castiel.”

“Son, you don’t know his state of mind. He didn’t sign up for this,” Bobby said placing a soothing arm on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam shrugged him off. “I may not know his state of mind, but I’ve known him long enough to not be surprised that he’d just take off rather than, oh, well, choosing any other possible option.”

“What are you talking about?” Jo asked, “he and Dean have been joined at the hip practically since they met.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t about Dean, is it?” Sam spat. “No, this is about Cas. And how Cas only thinks about Cas.”

“No, that’s not right!” Adam insisted, “he has been super helpful and kind to me!”

Sam scoffed, “on his own terms though, right? In his own house, eating in his own kitchen, lending you his own clothes.”

“Sam,” Jo began. But he’d clearly had enough.

“Seriously! This is the hill you two are going to die on? For Castiel!? Bullshit! He’s fucking my brother, and he’s never even had a friendly conversation with me. He met Dean and immediately wanted him, but did he take the ten steps next door and order a sandwich and say hello? Of course not. We both went to grad school. We both own local businesses. We both are big nerds with a thing for books and foodie food. We both run every day, he’s never said ‘hey, let’s go running’ or ‘hey, let’s grab lunch at that new place and spy on the competition.’ And before you all start about him shopping with my wife, Jess offered to go with him, and the trip was so he could dress Dean up and take him out and dry hump him in public.”

Bobby ducked his head at that last comment, “is this about your hurt feelings?” Bobby asked, voice gruff and uncomfortable, “because you’re under stress son …”

Sam scoffed again, bitterly, because Bobby always had the read on him, “yeah, sure it’s about my hurt feelings, but not just mine you know, this is about all of our feelings! We love Dean too. We’re Dean’s family too. That means Cas is our family too. We’re on fucking Team Castiel up in here, and he takes off like he’s the only one going under. Like we don’t need him just as much as he needs us.”

Jo looked between the men, and Jess bumped herself up beneath Sam’s arm to wrap it more fully around her shoulders.

Adam gaped at Sam. “But you’re saying he left Dean because Dean’s hurt and Cas doesn’t want to deal, and he’s not coming back.”

“I don’t know what Cas is going to do, I don’t know him, I don’t know ANYTHING about him” Sam bit out, “except whatever it is, he’s going to do it by himself, and we’re just sitting here not able to answer questions about Dean’s treatment or even get into Dean’s room without him. He split on us when we needed him here.”

“They’ve only been together a couple of months,” Bobby said kindly, “and being with a cop was always going to be asking a lot of anyone, much less an artsy bohemian like that boy.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve raised a million kids, dad, and you’re still some kind of narrow-minded prude.

“I’m not a prude, kid. I’m just saying these free spirited types…”

“Cas would never leave Dean,” Adam cut in, with emphasis on every hard consonant. “And he wouldn’t leave us hanging here while he’s responsible for Dean.”

“You don’t know that, Adam. You only spent a few hours with him,” Bobby told him.

Jo shifted her body to edge between Sam, Bobby and Adam like she might interrupt, but Adam shot back with, “Cas and I get each other.”

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose.

“You don’t know the first thing about him, and I’m not sure Dean does either, although I can understand Dean’s infatuation,” Bobby answered again, this time looking at Sam instead of Adam.

“Oh my god,” Sam snapped. “Dean isn’t infatuated, Bobby. Good gods, do you think he’s suddenly playing house with Cas because of the sex? Do you really think we do that? We’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Jesus Christ, make up your minds whose side you’re on! You people are killing me. This is more words than I’ve said in a month, and I don’t appreciate that I’ve spent them arguing with you two boys about Dean’s sex life.”

“I’m not arguing about Dean! I’m trying to tell you that I need to go find Cas and bring him back!” Adam threw his arms up and turned in a half circle, staring at the cops who were staring back at him. Most of them had the decency to turn back to their own conversations.

Bobby let out an exasperated huff, “Oh, really now? You need to bring him back? Are you crushing on Dean’s boyfriend?”

“Bobby …” Sam began, but Adam jumped in again, “Oh! My! God! That was ONE time! ONE TIME! I was a teenager! And of course I was crushing on Jess. Everyone was crushing on Jess! Fuck, Bobby, you were crushing on Jess! She’s fucking Jess, for fuck’s sake!”

“Oh great,” Bobby snapped. “Now we’re talking about Jess’ sex life. Jesus fucking perfect.”

Jess coughed into her fist.

“OK,” Jo stepped deliberately between the men this time, both hands raised, palms out. “Look, we need to take the volume down here. We’re not helping Dean or Castiel like this.”

But Adam just wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back flush with his chest, “ask Jo. Cas and I … gah …” Adam shook his head in frustration, “I’m just saying I fit in with him. We both know what it’s like to want so much, but to not know how to get there from here.”

Bobby’s eyes flicked between Sam, Jo and Adam, “what?” Jo just shrugged in response, settling into Adam’s arms. She’d move when she wanted to. Turns out getting very drunk and feeling sorry for yourself while Adam kept you hydrated and comfortable was some kind of foxhole-type experience. Who knew having a kid brother could be a good thing?

“I don’t understand this,” Bobby harrumphed, “if anyone should be demanding to find Cas, I’d figured it would be you Jo. But Sam is saying Cas doesn’t want to be found, and Adam is saying, I think, that Cas is waiting for one of us to find him and bring him to us?” Neither Adam nor Sam said anything, but both flicked their eyes to the side in a way that indicated Bobby’s interpretation might be on the right track.

Jo snorted. “Don’t look at me. I’m just feeling lucky no one has arrested me yet. I’m not about to go on a walkabout outside this hospital. And besides. It doesn’t matter which one of them is right. We need Cas back here. Maybe we should send Adam to go get him since they actually do get along really well. Dean would probably appreciate that.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Jo’s comment and huffed out his frustration. He stepped away from Jess, ran his hands through his hair, and looked up at the clock on the wall. Jesus, he much preferred when Dean dealt with this shit. Fuck. Time to pull himself together. He breathed in hard, let it out slow and long, and made an executive decision. “OK, they’re going to need some time to sew up Dean, and there’s nothing we can do here until they bring him back to ICU. So, I’m going to take Jess home so she can get a shower and we can pack an overnight bag. Adam, if you think you can find Cas, you should do that. Bobby, I dunno man. You look beat. You should go home and catch a few hours of sleep. Adam, Jess and I will share a Lyft back to the loft where we can get our cars. We’ll be back here in a couple of hours.”

Everyone turned to stare at him. Jess with a small, warm smile, Bobby with a knowing arch of his brow, Jo and Adam mostly surprised.

“He’s right, Bobby,” Jo said after a moment of tense staring. “I can text you all if I hear anything. I’m just going to stick around and be visible in case someone wants to arrest me.”

Bobby grunted in agreement, and Adam shot Jo a grateful look.

While the Winchester-Singer men hugged it out and mumbled uncomfortably, Jess pulled Jo aside saying, “you know you don’t always have to clean up their messes. They can be difficult, but we’re not responsible for their inability to have a conversation without growling at each other.”

“I know,” Jo told the taller woman, sighing, her face reflecting fatigue and sorrow. “But I can’t do anything for Dean right now, and I can’t make this Roman situation any better for him, but I can do my best to hold his family together until he’s feeling up to taking the job back.” Jess hugged Jo and whispered, “you’re a good partner to Dean. Sam and I are so glad you have his back.”  
Jo swallowed hard. She pushed Jess away and stepped back, giving the other woman a dark frown. She rubbed both hands on her face and tightened her ponytail. “This sucks, Jess.”

“I know. But it’s going to get better,” Jess replied.

“Not soon enough.” Then Jo pulled up a cot, while Adam, Bobby, Jess and Sam walked back the way they came.

***

Cas sat on the floor of his loft, back against the bookcase, tattered old hardcover in his lap. He whispered to himself the old, familiar refrain.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

This quote, the Gladiator's oath, on a poster promoting Richard Watkins' children’s book, Gladiator, had hung on the wall above every desk Castiel had sat at since 1998. The hardcover book and poster was a gift from his grandfather, and Cas had spent hours studying the drawings of its pages. When he’d moved into this loft, with no wall to tack it to, he’d tucked the poster into the book itself and stowed it on a nearby bookcase. Its corners were chewed up from years of thumbtacks anyway. He’d been in his early teens when he’d received the book, and his father commended the gift as reassuringly masculine for his son. His youngest son who was too graceful, too bookish, too soft in lip and long in eyelash. Father had made noises about making the boy into a man. But Castiel understood that the message from his grandfather was subversive rather than supportive of his father’s agenda -- Grandfather was telling Castiel about standing tall and fighting well, even when you were despised and enslaved. Even when you were alone. And in that house, he was definitely all of those things.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

Even as a small child, he couldn’t figure out how to fit in, to make parentally-pleasing choices, to earn approval. Oh, he tried, over and over again he tried, but his efforts always fell short. He’d been hated, humiliated, and rejected.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

In fact, meeting Charlie was the first time he’d ever felt familial acceptance beyond his grandfather, and Charlie was an outcast too. They were alone together, two survivors in a world that didn’t want them.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

Cas literally had no paradigm for an institution that had to accept you because of who you loved. An institution that more than accepted you, an institution that reached out and glomped you, held you tight, stared down the cruelty of the outside world and said, “you’re not getting this one.” And it all sort of washed over him, all at once, that he’d thrown his arms open widely to Dean, wanting nothing more than to take care of him and wrap himself around the hot as hell detective who’d showed up in his coffee shop to scold him for sassing his brother.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

Cas just wanted to know him and feel him. To touch him and taste him. To lose himself in a symphony of freckles, the shimmer of green eyes, the decadent heat of his body. He hadn’t given a single thought to the bigger picture, not a one, but goddammit he needed to work it out now.

 

> “I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.”

Cas slipped the poster back between the pages, put the book back on the shelf, and rose to his feet. He changed into running clothes and laced up his shoes. Then he slipped his phone into his pocket, pulled on his sunglasses, and headed out the door. This shit wouldn’t fall into place on its own.

***

Jess, Sam and Adam didn’t talk in the Lyft ride over to the loft. And they didn’t talk in the elevator ride up to the top floor, either. They went in through the door and spread out through the large space checking each room and living space for Cas, but no one was home.

They regrouped by the entry table, where Adam picked up and opened a bamboo box, and then rifled through the pairs of keys inside, pulling out one set. Sam shot Adam a questioning look.

“BMW I3,” Adam told him. “One of Cas’ cars.”

“How many cars does Cas have?” Sam asked with a twist of his mouth, sorting through the box.

“Um, this hybrid,” Adam waved the keys in his hand, “an SUV crossover that seats five and their luggage. A couple of motorcycles. A little Fiat convertible. One gets delivered every couple of years from the family fleet buyer. Which is funny because Cas doesn’t drive much -- he mostly walks, bikes, or takes the light rail. And some of those keys are to other things -- there’s a storage room in the parking garage that has bicycles and camping stuff. There’s a few other houses, plus he has keys to Charlie’s place. They’re all labeled. Look.”

Sam’s forehead creased as he fingered the different sets of keys. “Dean said Cas was living on an allowance that’s less than Dean makes.”

“Yeah. That’s the cash dividends from some investments he gets every month for living expenses and stuff. But he has other investment dividends that just get reinvested, some shares in his family’s businesses, and these houses, some commercial properties, these lofts. It’s all held together in a trust. Oh, and um, another block of stuff gets transferred to his trust when he’s 35, and I think again when his father dies.”

“Huh,” Sam said. Setting the box of keys back on the table.

Jess dragged them back on topic, “Adam, he’s not here. Do you think you could find him?”

Adam nodded, “I have a pretty good idea where he is.”

Sam bumped shoulders with his little brother, “are you going to share with the class?”

“Oh, a pair of his running shoes are missing from the closet. So, I’m guessing he went for a run to deal with his emotions. He does that. I can just go pick him up on his route.”

“You know his route?” Sam was surprised. Also annoyed in a way that felt like a mix of jealousy and chagrin. He’d blamed Cas of not making an effort, but had he?

“You know his shoes!?” Jess said at the same time Sam spoke. Adam laughed.

“Yeah, I mostly know his route. We talked about some alternatives he could take, but I know where he’s running these days. And as for his running shoes. I know he has two pair, and I’m wearing one of them. There aren’t any running shoes in the closet.”

“Weren’t you only here for like two days?” Sam asked, grappling with the sourness of his feelings sorting themselves out.

“I told you,” Adam shrugged, “we get along.”

“OK, well Sam and I are going to get along home. Text when you find him?”

“Sure. Catch up with you guys at the hospital later.”

They exchanged hugs, rode down in the elevator together and got into their separate cars. As Sam drove off, Adam pulled out the burner phone and texted Cas, “It’s Adam. Let me come get you? Or at least let me run with you?”

He waited a couple of minutes staring at the screen.

“I’m done running. But I’ve got another thing to do. Could you go with me?”

Adam smiled. “Sure. Where should I pick you up?”

“Grounds for Murder.”

“Be there in 10.” And Adam started the little car up and pointed it toward the coffee shop.

***

Jess sat with her eyes closed in the passenger seat while Sam drove. They’d brought her SUV, so he didn’t need his right hand to shift gears. Instead, he held her left hand and rubbed her wrist pulsepoint with his thumb as he navigated the streets.

As soon as he had her inside their house, he led her directly to their room where he helped her out of her clothes and piled them on the dresser. He couldn’t really care that they’d promised Jo they’d save the clothes.

His own clothes, he pulled off and tossed in the direction of the closet. Dean was the neatnik. Sam and Jess were just lucky they had a housekeeper.

He led her to the shower and started the water. While they waited for it to heat up, he gently massaged her tight shoulders. She hummed with approval.

When the bathroom began to fill with steam, he eased her into the shower and moved her beneath the spray watching the water run through her hair. A few streams of pink ran down her breasts and swirled on the tile floor before washing down the drain. Sam raised his hands to her head and began massaging her scalp, helping the water saturate her long, thick hair before he added shampoo. Jess relaxed under Sam’s close attention.

“Thank you for saving Dean,” he whispered as he emulsified the ginger-coconut shampoo in his hands before adding it to her hair..

Jess hummed again, her eyes closed as he added the suds to her scalp and continued his massage. “I have bad news about your jacket though,” she giggled. He laughed with her, turning her into the spray again to rinse her hair. “It’s fine. I would so much rather have my brother than that stupid jacket.”

He adjusted the temperature, cooling it down a bit now that they were both warmed through.

“Did you know Cas had money?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Sure,” she sighed as he began working conditioner through the ends of her hair.

He pulled her back flush against his chest and let the water wash over them for awhile, relaxing in the tropical-scented steam as her conditioner did its job. He’d ask her more about the money thing later. Some time when things weren’t so unmoored. “I’m worried, Jess.”

“Me too.”

***  
Bobby walked through the door and into Ellen’s arms. He was beat. He could smell something spicy and warm in the kitchen and hear the sounds of little kid giggles coming from the family room. He pulled her close and rested his head against hers.

“Go upstairs and get a shower, old man. Then lie down for a bit. Dinner is in the crock pot, but it will be a couple of hours yet.”

“Dean is in surgery. I need to get back over there.”

“I talked to Jo briefly. She says he’s still in surgery and will be for awhile. They’re repairing his liver and something else. Then he’ll be in recovery for a bit before they move him back to the ICU. You’ve got time.”

“He gonna be ok?” Bobby spoke into her hair.

“Jo says they sound confident about this. He’s not out of the woods, but this particular thing is gonna be ok.”

Bobby sighed and pulled himself back to look into her face. She smiled. “I can’t bring the kids into the hospital until he’s in a regular room, and I don’t want to leave them with a CPS-certified sitter unless we have to. But I’ll pack you a bag while you’re in the shower.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” And Bobby hauled himself up the stairs and into their comfortable bedroom. He needed that shower, and it wouldn’t hurt to lie down for a bit.

Bobby stirred in his bed some time later. The blinds had been drawn and Max and Livvie were tucked in on either side of him. He laid a kiss on Max’s head and dropped back into a contented sleep.

***  
Adam pulled up in front of the coffee shop, and Cas strolled out and slipped into the car. He was sweaty, wearing running shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He passed Adam a cup of black coffee and was drinking one himself.

“Where we headed?” Adam asked.

“Not far. Just over to Cityscape.” Cas stared out the passenger window.

“No problem,” Adam replied as he made a u-turn and headed over to Central Avenue.

***

Deputy Police Chief Anita Richardson sat in her car outside the house crawling with forensics. It was a mess in there in terms of gore and death. But it was, in other ways, almost entirely professional. With the exception of the two bodies in the back where Winchester had obviously been held -- those kills in that room looked personal. They looked personal in an oddly professional way. Someone or someones came into that room prepared and armed to cause a slow, painful death. Which isn’t something you see every day. At least not on this side of the border.

She flipped through screens on her tablet. Two more professional murders in Deck Park. Shell casings engraved with a rose. A cartel assassin, if the database was correct. One of the bodies on the ground was a known associate of Richard Roman’s.

What were the odds of multiple professional killers operating simultaneously at two nearby crime scenes, yet being unrelated?

And then the was the matter of Jo Harvelle. Who had obviously been at the scene. A video of her looking blood spattered, badass, and in charge, shouting orders while standing on a chair in the hospital waiting room, had been posted to YouTube about an hour ago. One of the waiting patients must have taken it. There was going to be no denying that Winchester’s partner was involved in his rescue now.

Richardson dropped her car in gear and slowly drove out of the neighborhood, heading back to her offices. She needed to meet with some people, and she needed to do it now.

***  
When Sam and Jess walked back into the private waiting room outside the ICU, it was substantially more settled. Jo was asleep on a cot. There were several uniforms being visible by the elevators and in the hall. Bobby and MK were sitting together at a table, Bobby was talking and MK was typing on a computer. Charlie was sitting next to them typing on her own computer, her face drawn and tired, but her eyes laser focused on the screen in front of her. She didn’t look up when they entered. She was wearing a headset although she didn’t appear to be talking to anyone. Along one wall was a table with catering set up -- meat and cheese trays, vegetable and fruit trays, hummus and baba ghanoush -- the usual.

At another table sat a slim young man in jeans, a button down and a skinny tie. A navy linen blazer was tossed over the back of his chair. He was wearing a PD ID on a lanyard that read “Park.” He stood when he saw Sam and Jess, and Jess was surprised to realize he was close to six feet tall. He’d had a way of sitting in a chair that made him seem smaller and less obtrusive.

“Mr Winchester, Dr Moore, I’m Will Park, your family liaison officer.”

They shook hands, and Bobby rose to join them.

“Bobby,” Sam asked, “we got a text from Adam a couple of hours ago that he was with Cas. But they’re not here now?”

Park answered for Bobby, “after talking briefly to Mr Novak, I spoke with the hospital, and they agreed to bend their one person at a time policy. For now, wherever Mr Novak goes, Mr Singer goes also.”

Jess raised her eyebrows. But Park wasn’t finished. “Detective Winchester has just been moved out of recovery and back into ICU, but he’s presently asleep. Mr Novak and Mr Singer are in his room with him. But, if you two would like to look in on the detective, I can walk you back there.”

“That would be great, Officer Park,” Sam breathed in relief.

“Call me Will.”

“Thank you, Will, I’m Jessica and this is Sam.”

“I’ve seen your wedding picture that Winchester keeps on his desk -- it looked like a beautiful evening. Belize?”

“Costa Rica,” Jess corrected. “Getting Dean on that plane required us promising to name our firstborn after his car.”

Sam laughed at the memory. Park just smiled and scanned them into the ICU and pointed them to Dean’s room, “he’s in 7.” Mack was sitting in a chair just outside the door. He looked up at them but didn’t speak. Then he returned to whatever he was reading on his tablet.

A nurse gave them a small smile as Sam and Jess pulled the glass door open and slipped inside. Dean was in the bed, wrapped tightly in blue blankets, with a number of different fluids running into IV lines that disappeared beneath the blankets. Adam was reading a paperback and sitting in a reclining chair under the window. Cas, wearing lounge pants and a Metallica tee that was almost certainly Dean’s, was sitting in the chair next to Dean’s bed with his head resting on the mattress. Adam raised his index finger to his lips -- both men were asleep.

Sam visually scanned the room while Jess checked the readings on Dean’s monitors. Dean was a couple of inches shorter than Sam, but he weighed about the same given how much more muscle Dean carried on his frame. And Dean was his older brother, his larger-than-life older brother who played team sports, hustled pool at the bars, and was a well-loved and well-fucked bad boy to men and women alike. Dean was Sam’s hero. And in that bed, Dean looked so tired and small. So vulnerable. Sam shuddered.

Jess crossed the room and laid a soft kiss on Adam’s forehead. He blushed and smiled at her. She patted his hand and shuffled back to Sam, wrapping both of her arms around his ribs while he stood there, just looking at Dean, breathing with Dean, waiting on Dean.

It could have been two minutes or twenty. Sam didn’t know -- everything felt numb.

Cas stirred and looked up through bleary eyes at Jess and Sam. He rose slowly and walked stiffly toward Jess. But Sam stepped in front of her, reached out, and hauled Cas into a deep, tight hug. Cas breathed out, shivering. Jess slipped in behind Cas, wrapping her arms around his waist, and Sam and Jess held Cas there, snuggled between the two of them, for a moment.

When he could talk, Cas tried to fill them in, “they say they think they got the bleeding stopped. They’re giving him some kind of medication that will help if there are other smaller … leaks. Is that the right word?” Cas’ voice was muffled in Sam’s chest, “but Dean’s going to be asleep for awhile yet. Adam and I can go for a walk so you two can stay with Dean.”

“No, Cas,” Sam told him, placing his arms on Cas’ biceps and stepping back so he could look Cas in the eyes. “You stay here with Dean awhile. When Adam gets hungry, you two can take a break and Jess and I will take over for you. We’ll switch back and forth so Dean’s never alone.”

“Thank you, Sam. Jess. I’m so glad you’re here.” Jess kissed him on the cheek and pushed him back toward the chair. “Well be in the waiting room if you need anything.” Then, she took Sam’s hand and led him back out of the ICU and into the waiting room. “You know what I’m noticing?” she said softly.

“What’s that?” Sam replied, matching her low tone.

“I still don’t see Meg.”

Sam pulled up short. “OK, well, guess we’d better try to find her. She may need help.”

“Let’s start with Charlie,” Jess suggested. “They’re friends.”

“Yeah, Charlie. I think she’s up to something -- she’s been kind of sketchy. But let’s not tip Bobby off. I don’t want to raise any attention until we figure out why Meg has been out of sight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glasses of wine and sunny holidays from Sarcasticbones and me to all of you.
> 
> xoxoxoxox


	38. However Long I Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is hanging in there. Meg and Jess come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this update took so long to post. I've been struggling with the second half of the chapter. Finally, I decided to cut the second half and work on it separately, and post the first half as its own chapter. And then I checked the word count of the first half (6k) and realized it was well long enough on its own in the first place. Writers. What can you do?
> 
> I think I have my struggles with the second half worked through -- what's going on inside of Dean and what's going on inside of Cas. I'll have it posted soon. Which, I guess is something I'm interested in putting to you all: how do you respond when someone you love has been hurt, but there's nothing you can do to change that? How do you think Cas responds? I think some of this cut a little close to the bone for me, and that's what caused me to flounder. Your thoughts would be appreciated.

“Open the door!” Jess pounded on the hotel room door again then looked up and down the Palomar building’s 23rd floor. She was alone up here. She’d been banging for a couple of minutes now, and no one had stuck their heads out to see about the racket. The doors to the other suites were spaced pretty far apart, and they probably had pretty good sound-proofing given these went for $900-a-night and up in just  the off-season. But Jess guessed the rooms were either unoccupied, or their occupants were minding their own business.

 

She’d give it a couple more minutes, and then she was calling Housekeeping and flashing her physician’s ID until someone let her in. She didn’t want to call Jo to add her detective badge to the mix, but she would if she had to. Whatever, there was shit that needed doing, and she was getting into that room. Jess pounded the door again with her fist. Bam, bam, bam, bam.

 

***

 

Meg breathed in through her nose deeply, and it felt like pulling air through cotton batting. Her mouth was dry, and her limbs were leaden. There was a dull throbbing pain behind her ribs and another deep within her ankle. She breathed out slowly, released the pain, and let the current pull her back under. But just as her lungs emptied in the moment before her autonomic responses took over, she heard a faint pounding. She raised one hand and scrubbed it against her sleep-crusted eyelids then ran it through her hair, pulling the heavy waves out of her eyes. She blinked her right eye open and glanced at the clock. She’d been asleep a couple of hours. OK.

 

Meg threw the duvet off and slipped out of bed. She snagged the 9mm off the night table and walked slowly, limbs still not happy about responding, through the suite to its door just as the banging began again and someone shouted, “Meg! Open this fucking door, or I’m breaking it down!”

 

She should have guessed it would be Jessica Moore, but she was sore and tired, and it had been a long few days. It was worrying how slow her mind was tracking. She peered through the peephole, but Jess was alone. Meg flipped the safety bar and turned the deadbolt, then she pulled the door open, not bothering to hide the handgun. Jess would know she had it anyway, and the badass doctor had already more than demonstrated that she knew her way around people with guns.

 

Jess stepped through the door, bag slung over her shoulder, and Meg shoved the door closed and locked it again. “Charlie. She must have told you where I was.” Jess turned to answer her, but Meg just raised one hand as if to ward her off, and then began limping toward the kitchen waving for Jess to follow her and feeling Jess’ eyes on her back, watching closely. Eh. She was getting used to the scrutiny; she’d learned quickly that there was very little that escaped Jess’ notice.

 

Jess strode ahead of Meg, straight to the coffee grinder and began making coffee. Meg took what was offered and sat heavily in a barstool. She remained silent while Jess slid the coffee in front of her, then picked up the phone and called down for kale and quinoa salads and a bottle of pinot grigio. Then she sat in the chair opposite Meg. For her part, Meg watched the other woman move about with spare efficiency. She wondered what, if anything, ever rattled Jess.

 

“How much did you take, and when was the last time you took it?” Jess asked her taking a sip of her own coffee.

 

“Hmmm,” Meg breathed into her coffee mug. “Three hours ago. Not that much.”

 

“Your pupils are pinpricks,” Jess scoffed.

 

“I‘m fine.”

 

“Yeah. Look. I know this is not your first barn raising,” Jess said, her voice low and soft, “but I’m going to check you out anyway.”

 

“You should be with Dean,” Meg said as she finished her cup and rose to make another. Jess waved her off again, and took both their mugs back to the coffee maker to repeat the process.

 

“Sam’s with Dean.”

 

“How is Sam?” Meg asked noticing the smudgy dark shadows beneath Jess’ eyes.

 

Jess rolled her neck from side to side, “he’s fine.” And then she smiled at Meg, “as long as he’s with Dean, Sam will always be fine.”

 

Jess’ smile deepened the worry lines marring her forehead. Meg got it then. Jess was tall, and Meg was short. Jess was light, and Meg was dark. Jess brought life into the world, and Meg returned the living to their maker. But they were alike. They were loyal to their people, they were driven to their objectives, and nothing was more trying than not being able to act. Neither Meg nor Jess were wired for sitting the bench.

 

“And Dean? How’s he doing?”

 

“They’ve got the bleeding stopped, all his indicators are holding. If he keeps this up, they can pull the breathing tube soon.”

 

“I expect he’ll be on oxygen still?” Meg asked watching Jess watching her.

 

“Probably until they’re almost ready to let him out. They may send him home with it. Depends on his lung function.”

 

“So, what’s his timeline?”

 

Jess raised her chin and looked Meg right in the eyes. “As long as nothing else goes wrong, a week, probably. They still need to decide on that shoulder -- Castiel said something about getting an outside consult?”

 

Meg nodded in agreement. Other than infection and the internal bleeding - both of which were under control now - Dean’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, or even dangerous, not really. Just fucking painful. He was a cop, and his family were cops, lawyers and doctors. The hospital would baby him as much as Dean would let them. And that was if Cas decided he wasn’t going to start throwing his weight around. Heh. Good luck on that score, Cas could be a right pain in the ass when he was fired up. And right now, Cas was beyond fury.

 

“How is Cas holding up, anyway?” Jess asked reading Meg’s expression. Her eyes narrowed as Meg hedged with, “Adam tells me they’re good. I’ve sent Cas a couple of texts, but he’s got a lot on his plate.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Meg rolled her eyes. “Seriously. The love of his life got kidnapped and tortured, which led to the worst ‘meet the family experience ever’ - I know, I was there - then he landed in the middle of a police hospital encampment, which, if someone hasn’t told you yet, Cas isn’t exactly cop-friendly on a good day. And then Dean tried to bleed out. Went into cardiac arrest. There was that whole failing to breathe thing. Oh, and who can forget the medically induced coma.”

 

Jess rolled her eyes. “He could still call you and check in.”

 

“Not him. Cas doesn’t do phone calls.”

 

“Speaking of,” Jess checked her phone, “food’s going to be here in a minute. We’ll eat, and then I’m going to check you out.”

 

Meg chuckled. “Fine. We can play doctor.”

 

Jess laughed, throwing her head back. “I’m gonna need my half of the wine if you’re gonna get handsy.”

 

***

Dean knew he had been in and out of consciousness many times, but for how long, he wasn’t sure. He had vague impressions of holding Cas’ hand and blinking up at the faces of his brothers and sister-in-law. He thought he’d seen Bobby and Ellen, but that could have been a dream. He even thought he’d seen his mother once, but maybe not. It was hard to tell with her. She didn’t deal well with stress, so probably he’d only dreamed of a visit.

 

Mom had never quite bounced back from the loss of his father years ago, and she took off for months at a time. The life insurance had paid off the mortgage, and she got by on dad’s social security and pension benefits. Dean kept the taxes on the house paid up, and Sam covered the fees for the yard maintenance. If she was in town, she’d text once in awhile, maybe show up at Dean’s for a late night drink now and then. But she didn’t have much to do with Sam … he was too much like their father. Which wasn’t really fair to either of the boys, but they’d long since given up trying to make their mom make sense. Ellen and Bobby made it to every school event and graduation. They remembered birthdays and put out spreads for holidays. And through their fostering, they’d given Dean and Sam a whole bunch of siblings, including Adam, so their lives were rich in family and love. Mom did whatever she had to do.

 

Dean swam toward the surface again feeling something squeezing his arm. It was a blood pressure cuff, and the sexy nurse, what was his name, (Leon?) was taking his blood pressure. Dean flickered his eyes open and saw Cas resting his head on Dean’s uninjured thigh, stubbly face turned toward Dean’s eyes heavy with stress and worry. Dean concentrated and managed to twitch his thigh muscle. Cas’ eyes widened in surprise, and he made eye contact with Dean who concentrated again and quirked up the corners of his mouth into a rough approximation of a smile around the tube that was helping him breathe.

 

“Dean?” Cas asked, sitting up and raising a hand to brush the hair off of Dean’s forehead. Leon mumbled some numbers and punched something in on his tablet. Cas looked relieved and said to Dean, “your O2 is looking good. They’re talking about removing this breathing tube in the morning. I can’t wait to hear your voice again.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead, and Dean turned his neck to bump his nose into Cas’ jaw. It wasn’t much but it was the best he was going to get.

 

Leon clicked a button on his IV, and Dean caught a watery smile and warm blue eyes before he faded back into the darkness again.

 

***

 

Dean was pulled from a dream that was all teeth and claws by someone shaking his shoulder, “Detective Winchester? Detective Winchester? Dean?”

 

Mari, the ICU Nurse, was shaking Dean awake. Dean heard her voice in the distance and swam toward it, surfacing in the bright light of his hospital room. He blinked his eyes open, feeling more present and real than he had since he’d been tied to a chair at the hands of Roman’s thugs. Mari was real, and strong, and she smelled like fresh laundry dried in the desert sun -- woody and citrus warm.

 

Dean blinked a few more times, and then made eye contact with Mari. She smiled warmly at him. Gods, her eyelashes were long. A tall, very fair skinned man was standing at her side and a Latinx man was with them as well, “Pasty New Doc and SexyPants,” Dean thought. “This is Dr O’Connor, Detective Winchester, he’s a pulmonologist, and Isaac, your respiratory therapist,  and we’re going to remove your breathing tube. We’re going to count to three and then Isaac will pull the tube out. Imagine yourself exhaling through it, and then, once the tube is out, try to inhale slowly and shallowly. I’ve turned up the oxygen in your nose tube, so you won’t be short of air, but it might feel like it. So, just relax and breathe slowly. Ready?”

 

Dean gave Pasty New Doc and SexyPants a short nod and winked at Mari. She wrinkled her pert nose in a cute expression of pleased puzzlement. That rhymed. Wait, not a rhyme. What was that? An alliteration? Pert pleased puzzlement. Perfect.

 

“Ready, Detective? One, two three,” and Mari, SexyPants and Pasty New Doc were over him holding his shoulders and pulling the tube, and he felt like they were crushing him. There was boiling blood in his chest, shoulder and leg, and where the fuck was Cas? He couldn’t breathe without Cas! And then Dean’s chest felt completely hollow. Empty. SexyPants was commanding him to breath slowly, even though all he wanted to do was swallow as much air into his lungs as possible, and also to punch Pasty New Doc. Probably. He felt like he’d just surfaced after being held down at the bottom of the pool. Obviously fucking Pasty New Doc was the perp. But Dean wrangled his anger and scrunched his eyes closed, slowly pulling air in through the oxygen tube in his nose and blowing it out his mouth. SexyPants was holding his hand and Mari was counting with him. He couldn’t really concentrate on the counting given the way his fight or flight impulse was screaming at him to punch Pasty New Doc and run to Cas, but his body synced up with Mari’s voice just the same. She was probably magic.

 

“And it’s out,” SexyPants was saying. Mari smiled in approval.

 

Fucking Pasty New Doc O’Connor made some more notes in his tablet, and then patted Dean on the shoulder, “you’re doing great, Detective Winchester. We’re going to leave you alone now to breathe a bit, and then one of the ICU docs will be over in a couple of hours to work you up again. Your catheter is already out. We did that while you were waking up. We’re still giving you fluids through your IV. But you can have water now. Try to get some rest.” Yeah, Dean was done resting. He was gonna get out of this bed and find his fucking Castiel. Mari was talking now though, and she was magic, so he tuned back in to hear, “and press the call button for help when you need to use the bathroom.” Yeah, that wasn’t happening. He’d been peeing since he was a baby. He’d taught Sammy to pee. There was that one time they’d peed off the roof of Bobby’s cabin  … SexyPants gave him a little wave as he and Mari followed Doc Pastyfuckface toward the door. Flirt much?

 

It was good to know about the catheter though; Dean was glad he hadn’t been awake for that little adventure. He’d thought the stinging and buzzing he’d felt in his cock was just his usual reaction to pain meds, which it partially was, but now he knew it was also from having a long, skinny tube yanked out, which … maybe ... no. No, we are not developing any new sex things while medicated, he told his loopy brain. It might have snickered at him.

 

Now that Dean was fully aware and awake - having a tube pulled out of your chest will do that to a man -- the rest of his body was checking in, and loudly. His skin itched, his mouth was fucking dry, and he was horny as hell. He was maudlin, pissed off, giddy, prickly, bored, and wired -- all at the same time. He wanted something in his mouth, that whole oral fixation Jess teases him about all the time. I mean it doesn’t have to be cock or tongue or clit or fingers or whatever, tacos will also do the trick. Why is it weird, anyway? Sucking on people is fun. So are tacos. Dean wasn’t hungry though. Food, nope. Cas, yes! Where to find Cas? Dean was fading again.

 

***

 

Dick Roman paced restlessly in front of the French doors looking out over the xeriscaped yard that extended into the mountain preserve. He wasn’t worried about being seen -- the police were keeping the details of the kidnapping, raid, and various other acts of violence close to the vest, so the news wasn’t reporting any details, and no one outside his circle knew he was involved. Besides, the Phoenix metro-area was home to more than four million people, it was an easy place to fade into the background. Not so easy to leave however, given its proximity to the southern US border, and it’s status as an international port of travel. Security at the airports and the border checkpoints was tight here.

 

The phone in his pocket vibrated and he answered it, “Roman.”

 

He listened carefully and growled in frustration. His own aircraft had been impounded at Phoenix Sky Harbor, and his company had received notice from the officials at the airport that the plane wouldn’t be leaving the airport without a court order, nor would any other planes associated with Roman’s company be allowed to land. The fixer on the other end of the phone thought it would be possible to arrange discreet travel out of the country from one of the smaller airfields in the area, but it would take another 48 to 72 hours.

 

“Carmen!” Roman shouted at the young housekeeper/cook/personal assistant who came with this particular home Roman was borrowing from a business associate.

“Sir?” the tall man asked as he entered the room with a bottle of syrah and a glass for him. He placed the glass on the table next to the window, opened the wine and poured a bit of the garnet liquid into the glass.

 

“I will be staying here two or three more days.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He replied, voice efficient and professional. “I’ll go out for the shopping. Is there any particular meal you would like?”

 

“The head of a scheming, manipulative woman on a platter would do nicely.”

 

Carmen nodded once, “how about a nice porterhouse instead?”

 

Roman sighed heavily, put upon and irritated. “I suppose that will have to do. For now.”

 

Carmen left the bottle on the table next to the glass, pivoted on his heel, and walked out of the room. Roman heard the garage door close a few moments later. He sipped his wine and watched a bevy of quail play beneath a pomegranate tree.

 

He was angry, frustrated, and his sources told him Meg had gone to ground and Winchester was recovering in the hospital. Winchester’s partner, Harvelle, was staying at the hospital, and there was no reaching either of them behind the phalanx of law enforcement guarding the place.

 

A security team of four from the main offices was in transit to escort him home. They would be in town in another day. Until then, Roman was stuck indoors with nothing but a phone and his anger.

 

Maybe Carmen would roast quail for dinner tomorrow.

 

***

 

Meg sat on the bathroom counter in her underpants as Jess prods her ribs. She giggled, not because she was ticklish, but because this was becoming a habit. She wondered if she could coax Jess into a shared bath like the one she had with Castiel.

 

“What’s funny?” Jess asked as she carefully felt her way along one of the lower ribs on Meg’s right side.

 

“Just remembering the last time I was sitting on a counter in a bathroom with someone poking at my ribs. Dean was making himself a menace just outside the bathroom door.”

 

“Yeah, Dean can be pretty insistent. He doesn’t like ‘no.’ Fucking hell. That’s not what I meant. It’s just Dean, he doesn’t even hear no when there’s something or someone he thinks he needs to take are of.”

 

Jess looked up at Meg’s face as Meg snickered. “What?” Jess asked.

 

“Nothing. Just. Dean and I have that in common.”

 

Jess murmured in assent, “Not the only thing you have in common,” as she continued to prod.

 

Meg hissed and reflexively pulled away from Jess.

 

“Sorry,” Jess told her with clinical detachment. “It’s not broken, but this knot and swelling I feel against your spine here is sort of like a sprain. Did you hit the ground particularly hard on this side?”

 

“Yeah,” Meg forced the air out of her lungs and breathed in again, carefully. It didn’t really hurt much so long as Jess wasn’t poking it. “A few times. I’ve spent a lot of time diving to concrete garage floors in the last few days.”

 

“OK, well, I think what’s causing your pain is you hit the ground on this side, causing your rib here to flex too far from where it’s attached to your spine. I’ll wrap them, and the anti-inflammatory I’m going to give you here in a minute will help some.”

 

“You don’t need to wrap them, I can do that.”

 

Jess snorted. “Jesus, and another thing you two have in common. Do I need to tell you that you’re not getting out of letting me treat your injuries a second time?”

 

“No. You’re suddenly kind of judgy for a sexy baby doc.”

 

“What now?” Jess asked digging through her bag for a bit of flexible tape.

 

“That I’m sharing Cas with Dean. You know, what you said we have in common.”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, woman! Not what I meant. I don’t care what you two or three get up to. You’re all consenting adults with your own resources and support systems. No one is being coerced here. I meant I’ve wrapped his ribs more than once, and now I’m wrapping yours.” Jess waved her hands in abstract, “a thing you have in common.”

 

Meg laughed a full belly laugh, picked up the bottle of tequila and pulled another sip. She passed it to Jess who also took a sip and then placed the bottle on the edge of the marble tub. Turning back to Meg, she caught her feet and said, “pivot around on your butt so your feet are on the counter, I need to get a look at this ankle.”

 

“It’s just a sprain,” Meg told her. Jess reached out and yanked on one of Meg’s curls. Then she scribbled something on the small notepad on the counter, and picked up Meg’s foot to prod the ankle.

 

Meg twisted just a bit more to read the notepad: “two ribs, right wrist, right elbow, left ankle… what’rya’ keeping track of here, Doc?”

 

“Soft tissue injuries,” Jess told her while rotating the ankle slightly to the right.

 

Meg hissed again, “yep, I’ve got some of those.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Jess agreed. “Where’s the codeine you’re taking?”

 

Meg pulled a bottle of vicodin at the lower-dosage of the spectrum out of her pocket. “I had two of these almost four hours ago, and I have two in the four hours before that. And I’m hurting, and I want to take more, but I’ll wait until you’re finished.”

 

Jess rolled the bottle over in her hand a little surprised. “Just two? Your eyes don’t look like two.”

 

Meg laughed. “Nah, you’re right, it was four. Two for pain, and two for recreational.”

 

Jess though a quick sec, “so you’re saying eight in the last eight hours?”

 

“Yeppo.”

 

“Along with how much tequila?”

 

“I just started drinking it with you,” Meg protested raising her eyebrows in an expression of innocence that was surprisingly effective.

 

Jess huffed out another laugh. Shaking her head. “Alright, I’m going to finish up here and give you stronger pain meds I brought with me from the PA you managed to coax into a quick exam while the rest of us were still swarming around Dean. And then we’re both going to get some rest in that gigantic bed you’ve got in there.”

 

“I can’t sleep for long; I’ve got a few irons in the fire,” Meg told her, hissing one more time as Jess prodded a blooming bruise on Meg’s thigh.

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do. NBD. I’ll help.”

 

“Dean would kill me if I got you involved as an accessory.”

 

“Heh. I’d like to see anyone question your doctor who is attending to your injuries personally about what else we got up to,” Jess replied as she packed up her supplies.

 

“Goddamn, I like you,” Meg smirked.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself. Now, let’s get ourselves a couple of bottles of water from your fridge and crawl into bed until your next round of intrigue and espionage.” Meg hopped off the counter and followed Jess into the kitchen. They grabbed four bottles of water and headed for the bedroom.

 

“I should tell you this is a bad idea,” Meg sighed, sliding beneath the sheets and then taking the meds Jess passed her, “but I’m tired of being alone, even though I know you should be at the hospital.”

 

Jess kicked her shoes beneath the side table, pulled her phone out of the pocket and set it on top of the table, and then wiggled out of her jeans and tossed them onto a slipper chair. She unhooked her bra, slipped it out of her sleeve, and sent it into the direction of her jeans. She plugged the phone into the USB and Apple device charger rack handily placed on the table next to the lamp. “Basically everyone Dean knows in the world is at that hospital. He’ll be happy to know someone is here with you,” Jess replied and then breathed out a slow, decadent sigh as she slid beneath the sheets.

 

“Are you hiding out with me in my posh hideout?” Meg asked rolling onto her side to face Jess.

 

“Maybe? But if this resort is gonna be our posh hideout, we should schedule massages and facials. Isn’t lying like that hurting your ribs?”

 

“Ooh. Good idea. They can do some of those services in this suite, but the ones in the spa proper they probably won’t be able to fit us in until tomorrow. And yeah, it aches a bit, but whatever. It’s just pain. I can breathe through it and then block it.”

 

“And that high pain threshold is way number four that you’re like him,  wait … five” eyeballing Meg as she took another swig straight from the bottle of tequila and then passed the bottle to Jess who pulled her own sip and then then sank into a daydream about an aromatherapy session and hot stone massage.

 

Meg read the blissed look on Jess’ face and snickered. She grabbed the tablet from the side table and projected the spa menu onto the flat screen, then she handed the tablet to Jess whose face lit with unabated glee. “Pick some for both of us?” Meg asked.

 

“Oh, absolutely. Dear gods I’ve needed a girlfriend. Too many penises in my life,” Jess’ voice pitched up as she added a couple of scalp massages with deep conditioning hair treatments to her cart. Meg hummed in approval.

 

“You have an aesthetician in town?” Meg asked.

 

“Sure,” Jess grabbed her phone, thumbed open the screen lock and passed it to Meg, “she’s under Sonoran Dermatology, her name is Neko. The other listing under Sonoran is Sara, my dermatologist in the same practice. When you make the appointments, tell them you’re my friend and that I said I promise to bring Sam in to lounge around the waiting room so they can ogle him at my next appointment if they promise to squeeze you into first available.”

 

“Oooh! I’m liking this girlfriends deal,” Meg giggled, thumbing through the contacts and sending them to her own phone. Then she made sure she was in Jess’ contacts under “Ninja Girlfriend,” and added her regular and personal mobile numbers.

 

“Do we need haircuts?” Jess mused looking at the menu carefully.

 

“I think we need cuts and blowouts.” Meg added leaning over Jess and tapping the Add button twice.

 

“Oh! Good thinking! If we’re going to be skulking around doing shady lady things, we need to look hot.”

 

“Well, hotter. We’re already pretty hot.”

 

Both women smiled at each other and then Meg pulled some spare pillows from the floor on her side where she’d tossed them and used them to prop herself up. She handed two to Jess so she could do the same. Jess nodded and propped herself up against the headboard too. They both sipped at their water a bit while Jess continued to browse and Meg added her comments.

Finally, when Jess was picking through body wrap options, “you ready to tell me whatever it is you need to get off your chest?”

 

“I’m going to need more booze for this.”

 

“How about we take a break from our drugs and alcohol binging while you tell me something real?”

 

“You first, girlfriend.”

 

“Fine. I’m the tiniest bit jealous that you’ve fucked Dean and I haven’t. And I’m not proud of it. I don’t _want_ him or anything. I’m just …”

 

“Curious?” Meg asked twisting her fingers in the sheets.

 

“Yeah, I guess. Curious. Dean’s always been so sweet and attentive with me. But sometimes when he looks at me, I wonder.”

 

“OK, so, confession then. I took one look at that sequoia you’re married to, and I _wondered..._  I wondered a lot about fucking a man who is well over a foot taller than I am and has probably 100 pounds on me.”

 

“What did you wonder?” Jess asked with a low laugh.

 

“Uh. Like would he even fit? Duh.”

Jess gave an unladylike snort. “Probably not. I buy lube in bulk.”

 

They collapsed together in giggles. When Meg came up for air, she added, “Dean is very attentive with his tongue.”

 

“Oh, I’ll just bet,” and more warm laughter.

 

When they settled back into the pillows, Jess let the silence linger, willing to wait Meg out.

 

Finally, Meg tapped Jess’ raised knee in syncopated beat, “I asked Cas to marry me last year.”

 

Jess turned to face Meg who had allowed her hair to fall into her face. Jess reached over and swept the bangs off Meg’s face, tucking them behind her ear. “And?”

 

“He turned me down. He didn’t think I was marriage material.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

Meg sighed deeply. “OK. That wasn’t fair. He actually said marriage would make us both _smaller_.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I used to think that he meant that he would want me to quit my job. He doesn’t like some of the clients I accept, and he feels like he competes with my boss.”

 

“Does he? Compete with your boss, I mean?”

 

“My boss and I have a shared history.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yeah. You go through some stuff in your life, and maybe you can only share those pieces of yourself with other people who have been through the same. And maybe you want to love someone who knows nothing of those things, and when you look into him, you want to just see something wholly good.”

 

“Believe it or not, I know a little bit about that.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You know?”

 

“Yeah, Jess. You think I let everyone read me like a book, see the scars on my body, hell, even allow them into the space where I’ve got weapons, cash, and far too many forms of ID to be legal?”

 

“And I thought you were just a pretty face.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Meg’s whiskey-warm eyes looked directly into Jess’.

 

“You’re right. I didn’t. Tell me more about what happened when you asked Cas to marry you.”

 

Meg twisted a tendril around her forefinger. “I thought I could convince him. And then we had an argument, or what passes for an argument with Cas.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means, he does his ‘I tell you exactly how I feel because I love you and therefore, because I love you, I don’t think you deserve anything less from me than my deepest truth.’ And when he gets done talking, you want to run away. So far away.” Meg’s expression was devoid of pain or sadness. Only the thin draw of her lips hinted at the deeper emotion there.

 

“And what was his deepest truth? Don’t tell me he thought you should stop sleeping with women or something?”

 

“No.” And then Meg was the one with the unflattering snort. “He’d have happily added a third person to the relationship if it would have made me happy. Fucking perfect asshole.” They both laughed with a tinge of shared bitterness, giggles as sharp as broken glass, then Meg continued, “no, it wasn’t the bi-poly he had a problem with. He didn’t forever love me. We’re forever-friends who share a deep and abiding affection, but,” and then Meg hesitated, shrugging, and then wrapping her arms around her knees. “But, he told me that I don’t have enough to give. And he’s right, I don’t. And he didn’t want to pretend his love and commitment could fix me. And I didn’t want to admit that I wanted it to. That I hoped it would. That I’d be willing to pluck that rose and watch it wither slowly knowing it would make me whole for awhile.”

 

Jess curled her own arms around her knees and stared into the middle distance. “I get that. Is it cruel to say that I was willing to let my demons go so I could be with Sam?”

 

Meg snorted again and then giggled mirthlessly into her knees. “Not cruel. The truth may hurt but being truthful is loving, even if it hurts.”

 

“Jesus Christ, does Cas actually say shit like that?”

 

“No. I read it in the Bible or something.”

 

Jess raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Meg just shrugged. “Loving Cas wasn’t the first or only thing I tried to lift a little of the darkness.”

 

“So, is that it then? Cas can’t risk marrying you because your choices in your job and your life undermine the love and the truth between you two?”

 

“You and I are a lot alike, Jess. But unlike you, I don’t want to let my demons go. They’re too much a part of me. They’re one of the ways I know myself. And, I don’t want to give them up. I keep them close, you know? I know what they are and how they can hurt me. And I don’t let them, at least not very often. But I need them, too. I need to put a leash on them and take them for a walk once in awhile. I won’t let them go. Not even for Castiel.”

 

Jess nodded and they sat in companionable silence together in bed for a few minutes. Finally, Jess asked, “so you’re telling me something about Dean here, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m telling you I can never be Cas’. No matter how long we know each other, no matter how much love and shared experiences have passed between us. I’ll never be his. Not in the way Dean already is.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yes. And I can’t give up my demons for Castiel. But I’ll tell you what I can do. I can let my demons off the leash awhile for him.”

 

Jess nodded again. Then she shoved Meg back into the pillows, crawled over her body and grabbed the tequila off her night table. Jess drew a swig from the bottle, waited a moment, and then drew another. “I think,” she said slowly, “that this is a worthy cause.”

 

Meg’s eyebrows shot up again. “I thought you said you’d left your demons behind.”

 

“Oh. I may have stashed one or two behind some ‘break in case of emergency’ glass.”

 

“You sure? I mean, I need some sleep. And you look like you do too. Maybe you should sleep on it. I’m talking about murder here.”

 

“I know, Meg. Someone hurt the people we love. That can’t stand.”

 

“I know it’s none of my fucking business, but I feel like I have to ask anyway. Shouldn’t you go back to Sam after we take a nap?”

 

“Oh? So you thought I was just going to check you out, drink your booze, sleep in your bed, and then leave? Nope. I’m staying here with you. I’ve got you under physician's observation. And no matter what we’re going to do. It seems highly likely from the limited facts that I know, that anything that needs doing can wait a day or two so we can get some rest.”

 

Meg chuckled and smirked up at Jess from beneath the bangs that were again falling into her eyes. “OK. You win. I’ll set up the Netflix if you go get more water.”

 

“Deal.”

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart is with Floridians tonight.


	39. Dancing the Dark Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can drown or you can dance, these are strikingly similar kinetics. And if you're lucky, you can tell the difference between the two before you get pulled under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite long. I'm not sure if it's the longest one I've posted yet, but it's close. I would still be struggling with it if it weren't for my sexyasfuck co-author, sarcasticbones who looks into dark spaces and never flinches at whatever they find there.

Adam had spent two days in and out of the ICU shadowing Cas after the emergency surgery to repair Dean’s internal injuries (and to top off his tank with a blood transfusion). The first day, Dean was out completely. The second day, Dean woke up for a few minutes at a time here and there, not able to talk with anyone, but able to let Cas touch his face and squeeze his hand. Adam thought that had been good for Dean whose facial features relaxed every time Cas touched him, smoothing out the pain lines along his forehead and around his eyes.

Dean’s family had been in and out of his room, Jessica, Sam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo and briefly, Mary Winchester. Sam had pulled Adam aside and told him Mary wanted to “swing by.” Adam told Cas, and Cas didn’t feel like meeting Dean’s mother without Dean able to make the introduction himself. Instead, Adam and Cas decided to get out of the hospital for a few hours and take care of some stuff, immediately after extracting promises from everyone that no one would mention Cas to Mary. That task should be up to Dean ….  when Dean was up to it. Adam knew Dean and Mary were close, as close as anyone could be to Mary besides maybe Bobby and Ellen who knew Mary well before she lost John. And Mary would probably (maybe?) be hurt no one had mentioned Dean was half of a couple now. But Mary wasn’t someone you talked to over the phone. If you wanted her to listen, you had to get her alone and sitting down, preferably with an adult beverage in her hand. So yeah, Dean could deal with his mother later, Adam was gonna hustle Castiel right out of there.

It was going to be awhile before Dean was out of the hospital, and Cas was on a tear to _get shit done_. After the infamous family disagreement behind the potted palms in the hallway, Adam had picked Cas up at the coffee shop in one of Cas’ cars. And from that moment on, he’d been personal assistant and professional shadow to Cas. At first, it was a little weird. I mean, when he’d picked Cas up at GfM, Cas was still dripping with sweat from his dealing-with-his-emotions run. And Cas had wanted Adam to take him to a posh law firm at Cityscape. So … kinda weird. But the law firm rolled out the red carpet for them, so Adam guessed if you were throwing your Rich Dude Business™ at the posh people, you could show up dressed however you wanted.

Today, the docs had removed Dean’s breathing tube, and after Dean had fallen back asleep, Cas and Adam turned the room over to Sam and Jo and headed out on more errands. Adam had dropped Cas off at the loft so Cas could grab the Land Rover Evoque HSE -- he was picking up a family friend at the airport, a surgeon he wanted to take a look at Dean’s shoulder. Adam had a different domestic task. He pulled up to GfM in Cas’ hybrid, and Kevin strode across the sidewalk, opened the passenger door, passed in two cups of coffee, and then got in.  
  
“Oh gods, coffee!! Gimme! You have no idea how much I needed this!”

“Yeah,” Kevin reminded him, “I probably do. I helped Cas get GfM ready and off the ground -- I know what he gets like when he sets his mind to something. I added an extra shot of espresso to your Americano.”

“Dude, thanks. You’re the best. Do you know where we’re going?” Adam asked and then sipped the dark roast enriched with cream moaning luxuriously as the caffeine lit up his brain.

Kevin smirked in sympathy. Yeah, Cas on a mission was the epitome of going nuclear, and pity any immovable object that collided with Cas the Unstoppable Force. “Yeah, got it here. Let me just plug it into the nav.” Kevin poked some buttons .

“Hey, would you rather drive?” Adam asked noticing Kevin’s familiarity with the nav system.

“Nah. I’d rather ride shotgun. I’ve kind of had too much going on inside my head today, and I could use a few minutes to just sit and stare out the window.”

They made the fifteen minute drive in relative silence, a triphop Spotify channel playing low. As Adam pulled into the cul de sac of their destination, he mused aloud, “I’m thinking you should sit in the back with her? Like, so she’s not scared?”

“That’s probably a good idea. Hang here so the a/c will still be running and the car interior won’t heat up. I’ll be right back,” and Kevin hopped out of the car and ran up the walk to knock on the bright blue front door.

Adam used the moment to text Cas that they were at the house. He rolled down the driver’s side window and leaned out to snap a pic of Kevin turning away from the front door with their precious cargo in his hands. He sent that pic to Cas too.

Kevin crawled into the back seat with their new passenger, and she cried almost the entire way to Cas’ loft. Kevin shushed her and chattered nonsense in sweet tones, but it didn’t seem to help. That is until Adam started singing along to Lana Del Rey’s “Born to Die,” which seemed to calm her. She settled down entirely when Kevin joined in at the chorus. Adam turned up the volume and the last five minutes of their journey was a sing-a-long:

 

 

 

 

 

> Come and take a walk on the wild side
> 
> Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
> 
> You like your girls insane
> 
> Choose your last words,
> 
> This is the last time
> 
> 'Cause you and I
> 
> We were born to die

She started crying again in the elevator. Poor baby. Adam held her carrier while Kevin keyed the combination into the lock. By the time they set her carrier on the floor, Solo was already pawing at it and trilling her own greeting to the tiny, bronze-y and black Burmese kitten.

“Hey, Solo,” Kevin cooed, rubbing the much larger cat’s ears. The kitten cowered in the far corner of her carrier, while Solo continued to chatter to the baby kitty and paw at the door to her carrier.

Adam sat down on the floor next to the cat carrier, and Kevin plopped down next to him. Solo purred and rubbed her face against Kevin’s hands, scenting them. Then she moved on to Adam, hopped into his lap, stood on her hind legs and braced her paws on his shoulders, meowing into his face. “Hey, sweetie,” he whispered, rubbing her nose.

Solo returned to the cat carrier and purred loudly, rubbing her face against the gate of the carrier. The tiny kitten inside peered at Solo from her corner of the carrier. Then she skittered forward a bit, body pressed low, doing her best to slink, or what passes for a slink when you’re a baby kitty with a huge head, ginormous floppy paws, and a ridiculous, round little belly. Gods, she was adorable.

Kevin spoke to her again in that same low coo, “Hey Solo, this is Scarab. Scary Kitty, this is Solo.” Scarab slinked a bit closer to the front of her carrier where Solo purred and trilled to her. Kevin unlatched the gate and opened it, pushing Solo gently to the side so he could swing the gate open on its hinges.

Solo let herself be moved a bit, but as soon as the space was clear, she pushed herself back in front of the carrier, leaned in and slurped at little Scarab’s forehead -- a so-sweet-it-makes-your-teeth-ache kitty greeting. Scary Kitty purred her own welcome in return.

“That’s too cute,” Adam chuckled.

“Yeah, Solo is a sweetie. Looks like they’re going to be good friends. Wait, what …” Kevin’s voice trailed off as Solo caught Scary’s scruff in her teeth, turned and ran off into the loft carrying Scary by the scruff.

Adam and Kevin looked at each other, laughed and then hopped up to chase after the older Siamese. They caught up to Solo just as she leapt onto the bed which remained unmade from that awful night of waiting, was that only three days ago? Four? (Time was smearing together for Adam as he distracted himself taking care of Castiel and his never-ending to do list.)

Solo dropped the kitten on Cas’ side of the bed and curled herself around the baby girl. Licking slowly and carefully, Solo groomed Scarab who snuggled in, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep. Solo purred loudly and happily.

“Whelp,” Kevin chuckled.

“At least she won’t be so lonely with all of us running in and out, but no one really spending time or sleeping here. I was feeling guilty about staying with Cas while she was here alone.”

Kevin nodded, “she’s definitely not alone now. I guess our work here is done. Lunch before you drop me off?”

“Yeah, but let’s make sure the fridge is cleaned out before we leave here. I don’t know if that’s something the housekeeper does.”

“Yep, yep. Let’s do it.”

***

Dean woke up the next morning to a commotion in his room. Jo and Sam were being ushered out into the hall, and Nurse Leon and a couple of young women in scrubs were pushing their way in. “Good news, Detective Winchester,” Leon sing-songed happily. “We’re moving you down the hall to your own room. We’re keeping you close because your people are already set up here, but at least you can have more visitors. If,” he paused, wagged his eyebrows, and smirked, “you all promise to keep it down.”

“Does that room have solid walls instead of glass ones is what I want to know, this place is like living in a goddamned fishbowl,” Dean asked, voice hoarse and dry.

The two women with Leon giggled, and Leon openly laughed, “yes detective, you are now on solid food and solid walls. You even have a door that locks. But,” and he wagged his finger at Dean, “you will remember that you’ve still got a lot of stitches and a lot of healing to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean nodded, gritting out a smile, he really just wanted to move this along.

“OK, Dean, we’re going to shift you into this other bed,” one of the young women in scrubs pushed a gurney into the room, “and then we’re going to roll you down to your new room. Your husband will meet us down there.”

“You know I could just walk down there, right?” Dean wheezed out.

They all looked scandalized. “Detective, even if you weren’t seriously banged up _and_ recovering from surgery, on oxygen _and_ your shoulder wasn’t immobilized, you’re on enough pain meds to knock out an elephant. No going on walkabouts for you!”

“OK, OK, I’ll let your push me.” Dean waved his hands. To be honest, his ribs ached something fierce, but more than anything, he wanted to reclaim some modicum of control over his life. Walking would have been a struggle, but he could have done it if they’d let him. Still, he’d settle for a little privacy. A little was more than none.

There was some adjusting of IV lines, and folding back of blankets. Then they counted off together and shifted Dean in one smooth, synchronized motion onto the gurney.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road then,” Dean throwing his arm forward in a tally-ho gesture and biting back on the screeching pain in his ribs that came with the sweeping motion of his “good” arm..

Leon laughed and stomped the brake release, and shoved the gurney forward.

***

Cas sat in the cell phone call lot of the airport, old school Beatles playing on the Land Rover’s 23-speaker Meridian audio system. He hadn’t had much chance to talk with Dean about, well, anything really. Cas had a lot of irons in the fire, and having complex and detailed conversations with Dean about life seemed unfair. Between the trauma and the opiates, the docs had told Castiel that Dean’s memory, especially his short term memory, could be scrambled, and he would be especially suggestable while on pain meds. So, yeah, Dean was too easily manipulated with his impaired judgment and memory. It would be really unfair to talk serious life stuff with someone who isn’t even sober enough to give basic consent.  

Well, it hadn’t exactly been fair to spring on Cas the fact that he was responsible for everything in Dean’s life while Dean was critically injured in an Emergency Room either, but Cas had to put a hold on his temper over that situation. And yeah, life wasn’t going to stop and wait for Dean and Cas to catch up, have their deep conversations, and work their shit out. They’d have to deal with the landmines as they stumbled over them. Which was ... not ideal. But then neither was having his boyfriend kidnapped and tortured by an evil narcissist’s psycho henchmen when they’d barely gotten their relationship off the ground. Hell, they’d only been out in public together twice, and once was The Night Club Caper. So here Cas sat, listening to “Hard Day’s Night” and drumming his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, trying to not think about just how much of this he was doing to take care of Dean and how much was about trying to get some control back in his life. Control that was increasingly elusive between the phalanx of cops, the rigid schedule of doctors and nurses, and the constant presence of Dean’s family -- all of it revolving through the glass room where he and Dean were under constant observation every moment of every day. Fuck this all.

His phone pinged, and Cas started up the engine and pulled out of the lot, nosing his car toward the arrivals side of the terminal. He turned down the Beatles and pulled up to the curb to stop in front of Dr Timothy Grayson. Dr Grayson was a renowned orthopedic surgeon from the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, who also happened to be the father of his childhood friend and love interest, Jewel. Before Cas had a chance to hop out and help him with his bags, Dr Grayson had the passenger door open and was sliding into the shotgun seat, tossing a suit carrier and a backpack into the backseat.

Tall and handsome, Dr Grayson had salt and pepper hair, broad shoulders and a wide, bright smile. He was wearing khakis, a polo, and loafers, the doctor’s traveling uniform. He looked fit and relaxed, his shoulders easy and his tone light: “Good to see you, Castiel!”

“I’m glad to see you too, Tim. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Nonsense! You’re still our family, Castiel. And besides, Jewel insists on my finding out ‘ _everything_ there is to know about this Dean person who won Castiel's’ heart.’”

Cas laughed out loud as he checked his blind spot and pulled into traffic. “She didn’t say it like that, did she? Like I”m some kind of fairytale princess?”

“Oh, you bet she did. She also demanded I take some pictures of him. I told her that I am not that father.”

Cas just cocked his eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not that father very often.” Both men chuckled given that Tim’s entire social media presence was pictures of his grandchildren.

“I’m sure Dean wouldn't mind a picture or two. But I’m definitely looking forward to getting photographs taken with him for the holiday cards. This year, I’ll finally have something to send back after I receive Jewel’s family pic with her adoring husband and three gorgeous children.”

“They really wonderful, aren’t they?”

“Very cute. Especially the twins. You’re a lucky man, Tim.”

“I think that all the time. You should come home for the holidays this year. Bring Dean. I know she’d love to see you. We all would.”

Cas clicked his tongue against his teeth, and it was Tim’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “You could stay at our house. We wouldn’t tell your parents you were in town.”

Cas sighed, “I always wished you were my father. Mine is so thoroughly hateful.”

“And I always think of you as a son, and would have been proud if you were mine. Your father doesn’t know what he has.”

“You mean, you thought of me as your son, except for that little incident when Jewel and I were caught in bed together by my parents.”

Tim laughed again. “Yes, well, that wasn’t my best day, I admit. But, teens have sex, and you and Jewel cared very much about each other. You were best friends. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she met Sean and am glad they’re together. If I couldn’t have you for a son-in-law, he’s a standout second choice. But we will _all_ have the last laugh when their children become teenagers.”

“Oh, speaking of family, I had first planned on you staying with me at my place, I thought it would be more comfortable for you than a hotel. But since I’m spending most of my time at the hospital with Dean, I decided to put you at the Biltmore. My clubs are in the back, you’re welcome to borrow them.”

“You mean the golf clubs your father sent you three years ago even though you’re never going to play golf? Not even if your life depended on it? What did you call golf, ‘the pastime of cake-eating, neocon econo-fascists?” Tim chuckled again.

“Those would be the very same clubs. How did you know I’d said that?”

“We were playing a round of golf when he told me he’d sent the same set of golf clubs to you and your siblings. When he told me your response, I may have told him he was hopeless as a father.”

Cas snorted. “I’m sure that went right over his head.”

“Oh no! I got the distinct impression that he was quite proud of himself, and certain that if he keeps up his neocon econo-fascist campaign, you’ll finally come around to his way of thinking one day.” Tim added a little nasal to his tone in a reasonably good impersonation of Cas’ father.

“Heh. That was pretty good. I’m going to take you and my clubs over to the Biltmore, and I’m going to leave you this car. You can text me when you’re ready to come see Dean tomorrow.”

“I’ve already spoken with Dean’s surgeon and made arrangements to call when I got into town. He and I will coordinate our schedules and let you know.”

“Even better, thank you. I can cross that item off my to do list then.”

“No, thank you, Castiel. I will enjoy the golf and the sunshine for a few days and get to meet your boyfriend. But save dinner for me one night, OK?”

They made the rest of the trip to the Biltmore making small talk about the twins and everyone at home. Tim told a funny story about the twins dislike of strained peas and covering the white carpet in green puke. Other people’s children are hilarious.

Cas pulled up to the valet, and he and Tim got out. Cas waved  the bellhops toward the luggage and the golf clubs in the back, while Tim spoke with the valet. After a quick hug and a promise to check in later, Cas walked down the curb where Adam was idling and got into the passenger side of the little I3.

“All set with the surgeon you picked out for Dean?” Adam asked as he pulled out onto the long driveway.

“Yes. He will see Dean tomorrow,” Cas replied ignoring Adam’s passive-aggressive barb. “How about you? Did Solo like Scarab?”

“Solo glomped Scarab like they were besties at first sight. Right now, they’re both snuggled up sleeping in your bed.”

“I know the breeder thought we should go with one of the lighter-colored male kittens, but I thought her goofy personality would be fun for Solo.”

“I think they’re going to do great. I snapped a couple of pics on my phone you can look at.”

Cas snatched Adam’s phone from the center console and started flipping through the photographs, “A few! There are like ten here, and they all look the same.”

“Hey, you just made me an uncle! Which is more than Dean or Sam have done. So, let me enjoy my moment!” Adam huffed out in pretend exasperation. “Oh, yeah, where are we headed?”

“Did you pick up the items from the Biddies?”

“Yep, they’re in a bag in the back.”

“OK.  Can you get me back to the loft? I want to grab one of the motorcycles and run a few errands.”

“Sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Can you get over to Dean’s and meet the packers and cleaners? They’re going to be at the bungalow to pack up Dean’s things in,” Cas checked the time on his phone, “about an hour.”

“Yeah, no problem. Are you sure Dean’s going to be OK with that?

“Dean wanted me to deal with his life and death details, so I’m dealing with them. If he doesn’t like it, he shouldn’t have put me in charge.”

“Alrighty,” Adam said in a sing song voice, “so that’s on you then. But I’m going to text Sam and have him come deal with Dean’s weapons. I don’t think Dean would appreciate just anyone touching those.”

“I didn’t think of that, thank you. Wait. Where are the guns he was carrying when he was taken by Roman’s people?”

“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, man. The cops are dealing with all of that.”

Cas blew out a breath through his teeth. “Ah, yes, the procedure-for-everything-people who have encamped in the middle of my life.... Gah. Speaking of, can you get me a list or specifications on however Dean was storing and securing whatever weapons he owns at the bungalow, especially if he is following a preferred police protocol? And track down someone to do protocol-complaint custom installation work at the loft?”

“Sure. I’ll ask Dad to recommend someone. Budget and timeline?”  
  
“As soon as possible, and budget is no problem so long as it meets Dean’s needs and it blends in with the loft. You have my credit card. So, use that.”  
  
“Great. Putting Dean’s weapons on the life and death details list. I can do that. I’ll text you more about it later today. Where are you headed?”

Cas ticked the items off on his fingers, “um, the bank, the university HR office, and then I have an appointment with a contractor to inquire about changing out the tub for something more therapeutic and an interview with a prospective physical therapist who could come to the loft.”

“You’re choosing Dean’s physical therapist too?”

Cas just stared at him, the set of his jaw daring Adam to ask the question again.

Adam’s giggle with uncomfortable and high pitched, “Oh-kay. I’ll text you as things get done. You let me know if you need anything else.”

***

Dean’s eyes felt like they were loaded with sand. He rubbed his fists against his closed eyelids and cringed at the scratching and crumbling. He squinted his eyes open and slammed them shut again. Ouch. He reached out for Cas’ hand, but found nothing but the crisp, indifferent linen of his hospital bed. Which was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

It was cool in the room and the overhead lights were out, but someone had opened the window blinds and afternoon sunlight poured in, washing the room in cool greys and blues. He convinced himself, once again, that everything was fine, and felt his achy body relax enough to let its own needs filter through. The yawn took over, surprising and wide, and he felt the soreness in his jaw as it popped in complaint. He rolled his head from side to side and his neck popped as well. Pain. Pain in every inch, patch and milliliter of his body. Pervasive. Deep. Wide. But pain he could manage. Pain was familiar, maybe not exactly this kind of pain, and it would be doing no favors to his personality, but pain was … pain was ok. Pain was fine. He was fine. It was the murky, wet, depths of something else - something that mixed fear and distrust, resentment and hopelessness; something lined with so many coats of sadness, something that echoed like a leak or a pebble dropped into an abandoned well during quiet moments that he couldn’t, wouldn’t deal with. Pain was fine.

He flexed his muscles, embraced the soreness -- in fact, he felt like one throbbing open sore from head to toe. Dean was fine. Everything was fine. The sadness was rising in his throat, choking him, he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again. His eyes welled. His throat and chest burned with the swallowed glass slivers of grief and despair. It was going to drown him.

The itching burned beneath his skin on the inside of his right wrist and he scrubbed at it with the fingernails of his left hand, feeling the itching flare up like ants welling beneath his skin. He felt the smudging dampness beneath the pads of his fingers and knew he’d drawn blood, but it was grounding. The sadness rolled out like the tide even as the heat spread over his wrist and began crawling up his arm.

Someone in the room softly cleared her throat, a feminine politeness gesture. Dean cracked his eyes open again, and a thin woman in a tailored, dove gray suit moved at the side of his bed, folding herself gracefully into a chair at the side of his bed. She had straight, shoulder length brown hair, clear and naturally made up skin, hazel eyes. Small pearls studs graced her earlobes and a silver chain with a small heart locket hung at her throat. She was a few years shy of forty, Dean thought.

She looked him over, eyes lit with curiosity, and he tracked her closely, her elegant posture, the precise placement of her hands in her lap. Now that Dean was paying attention, he noticed a tall, severe man with dyed black hair and a deep charcoal suit was sitting as well. His posture was straight, neither rigid nor relaxed, and his hands were resting on his thighs. His eyes were narrowed, considering. Dean disliked them both on principle alone. His detecting instincts kicked in, mixing with the deeper murk of apprehension and mistrust. What was the game here, he wondered?

The sixty-something man turned to the woman and nodded.

She reached into the leather briefcase at her feet, pulled out a blue folder, and began to read: “Dean Campbell Winchester. Born January 24 to Mary Campbell, housewife, and John Winchester, killed in the line. Decorated detective with the Phoenix Police Department. Multiple commendations, no disciplinary actions. Good closure and conviction rates. Liked by colleagues. Credit score 770. You own a house which you will pay off within six years on your current schedule, as well as a 1967 Chevrolet Impala Sport Coupe, mint. Adequate savings, state retirement pension fund, a 401(k), IRAs, and no outstanding consumer debt.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked reaching for what used to be so easy for him, pushing a bit of boredom into his voice.

“High school sports star and prom king. You attended your senior prom with a group of friends - a mixed gender group - wearing clothes you all purchased from vintage shops. Your wool felt fedora was considered especially dashing. You graduated cum laude from Arizona State University with a bachelor of science degree in Justice Studies and a minor in English. Your advisor encouraged you to apply to law school, but you joined the police academy instead. It appears to be something of the family business.”  
  
Dean snorted “family business” under his breath. Blandly hot random woman talking to him about his senior prom and his cop family was almost farcical. Must be the drugs.

She continued without looking up. “Occasional recreational drug use - nothing illegal since university - as well as moderate social drinking. You run regularly, lift weights, and pick up basketball games in your neighborhood park. And other than your current situation,” she glanced up at him briefly and then returned her eyes to her folder, “you are in excellent health, with perhaps the exception that you eat too much red meat.”

“No such thing,” he scoffed, but with strain. He was in pain, and uncomfortable, and the presence of these two strangers, even if neither of them screamed ‘Roman’s lackey’ to him was jarring, hitting him where it hurt and where he was still bleeding. Much harder than he had expected.

A hint of amusement flickered behind her eyes, something in the twitch of her mouth vaguely familiar. It helped Dean to come back from the cold dread slowly starting to build behind his brows. She added, “for the purposes of this assessment, binge drinking two or fewer times per month would still fall under social drinking since you do not drink alone.”

“Nah. I drink with my cat, and she’s kind of the red meat aficionado of the family.” Dean said. Because he was not giving these suited up strangers the pleasure of seeing him falling apart. This entire floor was covered by the PD, these had to be people that were somehow allowed to come into his room. And Roman wouldn’t send someone to annoy him to death.

She slipped a pen from her bag, uncapped it, and made a note in her file. “Han Solo. Four year old, seal point, female Siamese cat. Unregistered. Rescued as a kitten from a ranch fire. Gifted to you by a firefighter you met in a bar after he came off shift. The next morning, you kept the kitten, but not the fireman.” He scoffed again and leaned back into the pillows, demonstratively closing his eyes. This was fucking fine.

“Egalitarian bisexual with no long-term relationship history. Discrete with your sexuality ... until recently.”

“Don’t tell my boyfriend that he’s listed as an indiscrete, casual relationship in your file, ma’am. He’d definitely have some words about that.”

She ignored him, droning on, “younger brother Samuel, lawyer and restaurateur. Sister-in-law, Jessica Moore, a physician specializing in obstetrics and gynecology. The Winchester-Moores lived with you in your home until they bought their own house, where they now keep a bedroom for you, which you use with great regularity. A wedding photo of the three of you rests on your desk at work. You seem an especially _close_ threesome. ”

Yeah, she really wanted to push Dean’s buttons. Fine. He’d let her see him pushed. See what information reacting could buy him.  “OK, one, that’s Moore and Winchester family, _not_ Winchester-Moores, and two, what the _fuck_ do you even want?”

She hesitated, briefly, the older man made a disapproving sound, and then she continued, “you met Castiel Novak a bit less than two months ago, you moved into the residence at The Luhrs Tower approximately one week later, and you added Novak to your personnel records as your life partner shortly thereafter, including appending him to your medical powers of attorney, your health insurance, your financials, and your beneficiary records. In this hospital, your registration record lists Novak as your spouse, but no marriage license has been filed with Maricopa County, so we assume this to be a computer glitch.”

Ah. This was about Cas. Dean stared into those cool, hazel eyes, and she watched him in return, taking in the features of his face, eyes flickering to his braced shoulder and the healing bruising around his cheeks, eyes, jaw, and throat. Dean imagined what it must be like to be one of those insects pinned to a board in a serial killer’s playroom. Yeah. That old guy over there with her probably had a whole bunch of pinned insects stashed somewhere in his house. Eh. He probably had them framed and hung in his office.

“I think you should leave,” Dean told her, voice still flinty-edged and raw, carrying the persistent wheeze and crackling left behind by the dry drowning, infection, and intubation.

She continued to study him. Then she asked, “why haven’t you paged security yet, Mr Winchester? If you don’t want us here, why haven’t you sought to have us removed? Surely, surrounded by your family and all your police colleagues, you could have us ejected with little fuss.” She paused, letting her words settle. Dean waited her out. People will always tell you more if you leave them that space to fill -- Dean’s Guide to Detecting 101.

“Unless you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Unless you don’t want them asking questions. What are you hiding, Mr Winchester. What are you afraid of?”

And there it was. Dean’s Guide to Detecting 101, bullet point #623, people who overplay their hands aren’t holding any real cards.

Dean drew in a wheezing breath, needles in his throat, fine, he wasn't going to be able to pull off intimidation like this, but whatever, at least he was breathing on his own, “tell me what you want or get out. Everything you just said is the result of fifteen minutes on Google and social media, including the time to write it down, hole punch it, and stick it in your file. You’re not cops, you’re not feds, and I’m not interesting.” With another breath and tapping into what felt like fairly depleted resources of inner strength he went for an all in: “you may not have noticed but I’m not feeling so hot right now, my patience is not what it used to be. ”

The woman blinked and the sixty-something man with the good dye job, forehead botox, and perfectly knotted tie, spoke for the first time, “oh, I disagree. I think you’re very interesting, Mr Winchester. I’d like to learn a bit more about you, from yourself, if you don’t mind, we don’t mean to impose.”

Dean pinched the arch of his nose, closing his eyes and hoping to stave off the rising temper boiling in his gut. This game wasn’t even fun. It was tedious and boring and these people were giving him a headache. They were stirring up shit that didn’t need to be stirred, that Dean needed to just sit and sediment and seep into the deeper strata of his being so he could forever forget about them. Whatever happened to waking up with a girl in her underpants trying to plan a threesome and then a Shared Bed Saturday pillow fight? Those were the good old days, way back when …  four weeks ago and change.

“Mr Winchester,” the woman spoke again. Dean kept his eyes closed and kept applying pressure to the bridge of his nose, although her voice had taken on a cautious tone; she spoke slowly, “I am Hannah Novak, Castiel’s sister and legal counsel, and this is our father, Michael Novak III.”

A thick, dense breath, a pressure on his chest. Dean pushed it away, twisted his mouth to say: “Okay. If Cas wanted his lawyer to talk to me, he’d have brought her to me himself, Ms Novak. Want to try again?”

Michael Novak’s face darkened, but Hannah shuffled the folder into her briefcase and pulled out another. She placed it carefully in her lap and then turned to look at her father. Then she turned back to Dean, hands still resting on the green folder in her lap. “I am also senior counsel to my father, and to the family’s corporation.”

Dean rubbed at the burning itch against the inside of his wrist, irritating the skin, focusing all of his attention there. Fanning the scorching lines into flames of anger. Anger was good. Anger he could do. This was fine. Dean’s worked with enough rich people to know that they don’t think like the rest of us. They have different boundaries. This was probably about that news story with the footage of Cas leaving the hospital with Adam when the reporter called Cas the “hero cop’s boyfriend,” or this was about the Instagram pics where Cas was straddling him that night at Hexx. Something like that to go along with that “indiscrete” jab. Somewhere along the way, Dean had violated one of their boundaries and these people were here to redraw the line. Put Dean back on the other side of it with the rest of the plebeians. Fine. “Okay. So you’re not actually Cas’ lawyer. You’re the family money’s lawyer. Got it. Keep going, Ms Novak. You’re doing great.”

Her lips thinned. ‘Perhaps we can start again…”

Michael interrupted, “Dean, may I call you Dean? Your history suggests you’re a stalwart young man. You’re focused on your career, and you have simple tastes, all-American tastes.” Dean snorted, how many jabs were in that comment? The boring, blue collar simpleton who drinks beer and plays basketball. Sure. Dean could be that guy if that’s who they were here to meet.

“Yes, Mr Novak, you can call me Dean,” and then he waited, allowing the silence to push Novak forward. Moments ticked by.

“Dean, why are you living with my brother?” Hannah interrupted. Her hands fluttering.

OK, what? Something about that didn’t add up -- even for rich people this was weird. His head was muzzy, and he couldn’t think it through. Fucking itchy. He scrubbed at his wrist again. How did this track? Background check, lawyer, sister, father, garden variety class-based insults. This should be headed toward the ‘what are your intentions toward my son’ thing. But it was more like a late night rerun of Law & Order. And she absolutely wants him to notice that file folder in her lap.

“I don’t think I understand the question.” Dean’s voice was gravel and raw meat, and he let the pain leak into it. Let’s just move this along.

Her eyes softened in sympathy. Perfect. “Do you know what is in this folder?” she asked him softly tapping her fingers on the green cover.

“The raunchy notes I wrote to my freshman math teacher, Mr Alister?” He coughed trying not to laugh at himself. He was a hoot. An itchy, pissy, aching, loopy hoot.

She settled her hands in her lap, but a shimmer of amusement slipped across her face before she reigned it in. She leaned forward and placed the folder on his thigh. He didn’t touch it though. He just watched her as she settled back into her chair, posture a little stiff. A little uncomfortable. OK, this was going to be a standoff over this folder. But maybe she was a bit on his team with her discomfort. Not dad though. Dad was going to step in here in five, four, three …

“Dean. My daughter is responsible for the collective assets of our company and our family. She no longer represents Castiel, but she does receive alerts when his name is referenced in public records.”

“Okay.” She looked down again. Dad stared him in the face.

“My son has added you to his trust.” Dad still staring. Sister still not.

“Okay.” Dean made no move toward that folder.

“The updated legal documents are in that file folder.” Dad gestured toward the folder with his hands.

“Sure.” Dean was demonstrating he couldn't be less interested in the contents of that folder. He was a goddamned Olympic gold medalist in the Belligerently Oblivious event. Dean was studying the excellent layering of her hair as it fell forward across her jaw, fluid like water. That hairdresser he'd hooked up with a few times could do that skilled layering work with a sharp pair of scissors as she bounced along to an EDM soundtrack. It was cool to watch her at it. Hands moving like a bird’s wings, hair falling away and drifting toward the floor.

Dad huffed with impatience at Dean’s apparent wandering thoughts. “If you review them,” another gesture at the file, while Dean was incredibly fascinated by the subtle blue pinstripe he suddenly realized was incorporated into the fabric of Hannah’s beautifully tailored suit, “you will see that you are now a full and equal owner in all of Castiel’s current and future assets.”

“Huh.” He really had nothing here. If this was true, and it sounded true, Cas had been very busy while Dean had  been trying to not bleed out, suffocate, or otherwise die. Oh, Dean and Castiel would be talking about this later. Loud talking. Speed talking. With wild gesticulations, probably. Because holy hell Cas did not just stir together their finances without so much as a post-it note warning. What the fuck did all that even mean? Yeah, they were going to loud fast talk something fierce. But for now, he wasn’t going to give these people anything except for his uncomplicated cop face.

“So, you can see, Dean,” the older man’s voice had taken on a note of frustration. He clearly wasn’t used to anyone not bending to his will, and Dean still hadn’t touched that damned file folder,  “we are curious. Why would you move in with Castiel? After only knowing him a few weeks.”

The room went cold, and Dean’s skin crawled. And it wasn’t just from the opiates. He’d been playing their game because he’s a cop and that’s what he does. He pokes at puzzles until they unravel. And these two people showing up here with their little background folio and their color coded file system had been a puzzle. But now the hair was standing up on the back of his neck. She wasn’t someone he wanted on his team. If she was sitting here playing some kind of game with Cas’ life, clearly at the behest of this dead soul she called a father, well then, something was seriously fucked.

He swallowed against the rising bile and choked out, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at. I’m just a stalwart cop who went to a state school, so Imma need you to speak plainly, and with small words, okay?”

Then Cas threw the door open and swept into the room. Michael’s eyes snapped to his son, and then his face darkened with anger. His jaw set, and Dean thought Michael might crack his teeth if he kept grinding like that.

Cas was wearing leather motorcycle pants the color of dried blood. His boots were heavy and black with battered buckles and thick tread. They were well-scuffed from use; worn and loved. He wore the same thin black tee from his Halloween costume. His hair was standing wild on his head. There was a matching red leather motorcycle jacket thrown over his left arm, and he was carrying a glossy blood red helmet in his left hand. He’d smudged burgundy shadow and black liner at his upper and lower lashlines, and his lips were slicked in cherry balm.

He leaned against the wall all sinew and slink (more preening than leaning), body stretched out and on display, his voice cool and chippy, “they’re saying you’re a _normal_ , Dean. They don’t know why you’d ruin your life with me when you don’t need my money or my family name.”

Michael and Hannah were silent, but the air in the room was humid and thick like a coming storm. It was suffocating, but Cas just radiated self assurance like he was immune to the heavy water of contempt pouring off his father. Hannah’s shoulders curved down as she curled a bit in on herself. Was that shame? Avoidance? Dean’s headache flared behind his eyes. This was maybe a version of Cas that Dean hadn’t met yet, but the pain was blurring his vision, and the boiling emotions in the room were sucking in all the air - he was going to suffocate beneath the pressure. Dean managed to choke out, “hey, babe.”

Cas smiled all fang and threat, “hello, Dean.”  Echoes of desire shuddered down Dean’s spine, but they quickly dissipated in the prickly itch of his skin and the hammering ache in his shoulder. He locked his eyes on Cas, unwilling to break the hot tether of that deep blue stare lest he find himself going under again.

Without taking his eyes off Dean, Cas spoke low and dark, “hello, Hannah. Father.” He dropped the helmet and jacket to the floor, leaned over and pushed them beneath Dean’s bed. He rose slowly, all grace and muscle isolation, more feline than human, more feminine than masculine.

“Castiel,” Hannah said with a slight tremble in her voice, standing and making to move toward Cas, but he shifted his weight to his other foot and slid in between his family and Dean.

“Father,” his voice soaked in false sincerity, “I didn’t know you were coming to visit.”

“Castiel. Are you suggesting I’d do something rash with little aforethought or announcement?”

Dean’s loud guffaw filled the room at that sarcastic shit, while Cas’ spine stiffened and he crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes.

“Mr Winchester,” Cas’ father snapped, “I hardly think …”

“Shhhhh.” Dean interrupted, his voice sugar sweet, and raising his finger to his lips. “Quiet. Cas is counting.”

“Castiel,” his father began, all needling nasal vowels. Oh, hell no. That is DEAN’S Castiel. You don't bark out that name in complaint or whine. And you sure as hell don't take take that tone when you’re lacing it with judgment and condescension. And, in fact, when you say _Castiel_ , you say it with an ever-so soft brush against the first syllable, a steady liquid heat across the vowels, and a sharp drag of tongue over teeth to wrap him up. Like a benediction -- a filthy prayer.

This shit was getting shut down right the fuck now. Dean reached out with one hand and patted Cas’ hip, taking a deep wheezing breath and pressing out as loudly as he could manage, “does you dad have any other gears than full bastard speed ahead, babe?”

Michael sucked in a sharp breath. Cas bent his head neck forward and shuddered with silent laughter. Then he turned and took the two steps to Dean’s side. Dean scooted over a bit, flinching in pain and effort, and patted the bed next to him. Cas sat carefully and picked up Dean’s hand, twining their fingers. Cas leaned over from the waist (goddamned Pilates) and brushed his lips over Dean’s fingers, then rose slowly to stare back at his father.

“Are you quite finished?” Michael snapped in irritation.

“Finished with what? Finished with my counting?”

“Finished with your _flagrant_ display,” Michael spat.

“Well, I’m certainly finished counting. I abandoned my attempt. Counting is a reasoning technique that provides an intervening moment where one can pause and reclaim their perspective in regards to their own anger. Since your reason for being here is outrageously offensive and oh so very typical of you, I am clearly not going to gain a different perspective, even if I counted until the sun burned cold.”

“As for unseemly displays…” Cas’ icy blue gaze landed on Hannah’s face, which had gone pale with red splotches standing out on her cheeks, her eyes wide open. “Dean is a good person, sister. He was gravely injured in the line of duty. He is a victim of a violent crime. The doctors and nurses in this facility have saved his life at least twice since he was brought in. He should be resting, not sparring with you and father. I am ashamed of your behavior on display here.”

“Castiel,” she stood and moved to retrieve her folder, but Cas’ eyes tracked the motion. That sharp gaze landed on the folder and his eyes narrowed. He snatched it up before she closed her fingers on it. She looked stricken, “Castiel!” Her voice pitched higher and thinner. (What was wrong with these people? That is _not_ how you say it. Dean was just going to ban anyone from speaking his boyfriend’s name if they were going to keep fucking it up.) Something ugly danced over Cas’ face and then he opened the folder and flipped through the pages.

“Have you seen this?” he asked Dean, soft and careful. Like Dean should be treated gently. Like what Dean needed mattered -- mattered maybe for the first time in this entire conversation..

“Nah. I haven’t touched it. I don’t know them,” Dean said gesturing with his good arm toward Cas’ family and narrowly avoiding hissing aloud in pain. Goddamn those ribs felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to them. “I don’t know what seeds they’re here to sow, but I know better than to take anything from the hands of a lawyer who isn’t representing me.”  

Cas chuckled again. “You’re amazing.”

“And pretty too,” Dean smirked up at his boyfriend, freckles making him look young and mischievous.

“Yes, you are. You’re very pretty,” Cas squeezed Dean's hand again, “and stoned out of your mind, I think,” he replied, eyes unguarded with worry. “We need to wrap this up, they shouldn’t even be in here when you’re in this state.”

Worry bled out and was replaced with that same dark ice as Cas turned back to his family. He flicked his wrist and tossed the folder in Hannah’s direction. It landed at her feet and papers spread out over the floor. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

“Just tell me what you want, Father, so I can tell you ‘no’ and call security to have you removed.”

Michael Novak looked back at his son, he face devoid of expression. In that moment, Dean saw the family resemblance between Castiel and his father. So much sheer force of will there. Except Cas backed up his determination with hard work and genuine efforts at communication. Michael Novak thought the ability to buy what he wanted was the same thing as personal success. It isn’t. Hannah looked at Dean, a note of pleading in her eyes and soft tremble of her upper lip. But she’d chosen her place in the middle. She could accept the fallout of that choice. He wouldn’t waste his energy on anyone who couldn’t take Cas’ side. Dean twined his fingers with Cas’ again and studied Cas’ father.

“Castiel,” Michael spoke with the certainty of someone who’d never been denied. “You left us to live as you pleased, and I have accepted your absence and not interfered in your…” and he eyed Cas’ clothes and posture with disgust “lifestyle choices. Hannah was understandably concerned when your trust was modified.” It was Cas’ turn to scoff. Michael continued. “She requested the background check on Mr Winchester as a matter of procedure.” Another louder scoff from Cas. Michael glared at his son, the silence growing chillier.

Then he continued. “When I reviewed his file …”

“Oh, yes, and Hannah bringing her invasion of Dean’s privacy straight to your hands is absolutely a matter of standard procedure, father?”

Hannah frowned, but Michael ignored Cas’ outburst and continued, “when I reviewed his file, I was concerned.”

“It is my trust, father. I may do with it as I like.”

“Yes, you may, Castiel. Your grandfather wanted your trust established this way, and I have never attempted to contravene his will.”

“Except that you’ve got a file folder full of copies that had to have been requested from the court, and therefore, by the very act of filing the request for records, paying the copying fees, pulling the strings to expedite the request -- because I know when I signed and filed these and the ink is barely dry on them -- all of that is in fact interfering with my trust.”

Michael sighed. “Dean has worked hard for everything he has in his life, Castiel,” and that sneering pitch returned to Michael’s words. “He supported his younger brother and sister-in-law while they completed graduate school. His job performance is excellent, and he is well-liked among the leadership of his institution.”

“YOU CALLED HIS CHAIN OF COMMAND!” Castiel raised his voice and rose to his feet, indignation readable in the sharp flick of his hand and the dark flush over his cheeks.

Nguyen came through the door with MK on his heels, but Dean threw his hand up, flinching with the sharp pain, and hissed, “we’ve got this. Please stay outside.”

“Yes, detective,” MK replied backpedaling, but Nguyen remained standing in the doorway.  

“Seth?” Dean asked the young officer.

“I’m Dr Novak’s detail, detective,” Nguyen replied, shifting into parade rest.

Cas looked down and chuckled. Then he turned to Nguyen, “Seth, this is my father, Michael Novak III, and my sister Hannah. Father, Hannah, this is officer Seth Nguyen, would you like me to spell that for your files, Hannah?”

Hannah ignored the barb. “It’s nice to meet you,” her tone polite and open. “Thank you for protecting my brother.”

“It is my honor, ma’am,” the young officer replied. Michael huffed and Nguyen remained where he was.

“You can wait outside, Seth,” Cas said with a soft smile, “I’m fine, and they’re leaving shortly.”

Nguyen hesitated another moment, then replied, “yes, sir. I’ll be right outside,” and he pivoted and walked through the door. Cas returned to glowering at his father.

“I called the Phoenix Police after I saw the news story. I wanted to make sure Detective Winchester and Detective Harvelle would have quality care. They are heroes.”

“Yes, they are. And you should know the police take care of their own, father.”

“Which is exactly my concern, Castiel. Detective Winchester has a bright future in this police force and in this community. He is a valuable part of a greater whole, something he has worked toward his entire life.”

“And you’re here to warn him that I am incapable of conforming to any institution or any expectations, and I will only damage what he has worked so hard to attain? Does that about cover it?”

“Except that I would have added, you also lack the ability to perform appropriate deference and respect in social contexts. Something that is required of the partner of a decorated officer.”

“Ah. Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot that I’m a dysfunctional, disrespectful heathen.”

The Novak men glared at each other. Dean’s mouth fell open, “wait. You barged into my life because you wanted to warn me about my boyfriend?”

“Dean,” Hannah began, her voice soft and careful.

“No.” Dean held up his hand and pointed his index finger at Hannah and then Michael, “You. Don’t. Talk. I don’t know you two, and I don’t know your history with Castiel. But I know this much. Cas is mine. And I take care of what is mine. Which includes not allowing random people to come into my life and cause pain. So, you two can just pick up your file folders and get the fuck out of my life.”

The Novaks rose to leave.

“Stop!” Dean’s voice was hard and commanding. The Novaks froze. “I said pick up your shit. One of these nurses could slip on that stuff. Jesus.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Michael Novak snapped.

“Don’t be a _sanctimonious dick_ ,” Dean snapped back.

Hannah collected her papers from the floor and swept them into her briefcase.

“Why couldn’t you just be a normal dad?” Dean asked, voice raw and overly-honest, not able to sort the emotional from the physical pain right this moment, only knowing that wounds were being torn open and his Cas was bleeding out in front of him.

Michael Novak turned to Dean, his expression an open question. Dean continued, water welling in his eyes, “you know - show up here, threaten me that I’d better not hurt your kid, remind me you’ll have me ‘taken care of’ if I do, and then start throwing hints around about getting busy making you some grandkids?” One tear broke free and ran along the side of Dean’s nose. “How hard would that have been, man?”

Michael studied Dean’s face a moment and then turned to Cas, voice smooth and dry, “I would quite like a granddaughter, Castiel. Which, of course, is not possible with your choices and your lifestyle. The both of you. You two both have a history of attractions to women. So, I ask you this, you could have found a nice girl, Castiel, courted her properly, brought her home to meet your parents, allowed your mother to plan a big, white, church wedding, and then settled down to give your mother and I a granddaughter. How hard would _that_ have been?”

Castiel froze beneath the gaze of his father.

“No. I didn’t think so,” Michael spoke with that same tannin-dry tone. “Hannah, we’re going.”

Michael held the door for Hannah, and she paused briefly to squeeze Cas’ wrist before she stepped through the door. “And Castiel,” Michael paused at the door, “your mother would appreciate a call.”

And with that, they were gone.

Cas sat heavily on the bed, his spine rigid when tension, and cold fury roiling off him in waves.

Dean’s hand automatically went to the small of Cas’ back. “What the fuck was that?”

“That,” Cas’ voice was leaden with the weight of old conflict, “was my family.”

“They’re a fun bunch,” Dean said lightly.

Cas snorted and then burst into near-hysterical giggles. When he could catch his breath, he turned to face Dean with his eyebrow cocked, “grandchildren? That’s what you went with, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, “just add it to the list of things we’re gonna fight about.”

“We have a list?”

“Fuck yes, we have a list. So, I have a trust fund now?”

“You made me a cop’s wife!”

“Cop’s life partner!”

“Whatever! I found out I had your medical power of attorney _after_ you were rushed to the Emergency Room!”

“And so your response was to play ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ with your fucking trust fund!?”

“It’s just money, Dean. It’s not like it’s family! **_I_ ** had to hide from your mother when she came by to see you!”

“Oh yeah!? Well while I was unconscious and my mother was apparently visiting, I also became the owner of a fucking building or ten!!”

“It’s not _ten_ , asshole… don’t exaggerate.”

“DON’T EXAGGERATE!? Are you fucking kidding me right now!? I just met your lunatic father!!”

“Dean, don’t be ableist. Calling him a lunatic is an insult to lunacy.”

“Oh gods! Right! PC Bullshit. That’s on my list too! Did you know that you never told me your fucking pronouns!?! For all I know, I’ve been …” The door opened and Nguyen poked his head in, “everything alright in here?”

“Yeah,” Dean gritted out, “I’m just in a shitton of pain. Could you go get my nurse for me?”

Nguyen coughed, “you know, you could just use your call button.”

“I could, but then you’d still be standing right outside the fucking door while I yell personal shit at my lunatic boyfriend, so yeah, go find my fucking nurse!”

Nguyen looked to Cas whose lips were a tight, thin line. Cas nodded. “OK, you two. Be right back. Don’t break anything else.” And Nguyen backed out the way he came in. Cas wheeled on Dean, hands on his hips.

“Dean, do you have any idea what it is like having your life taken over by a fucking encampment of cops? They’re everywhere! Doing everything! I can’t even breathe without one of them trying to help me!”

“Listen, asshat, they’re trying to help me _because_ I’m a cop. They help me by helping you!”

“No, I help you! That’s my fucking job!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, “...Cas… what have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing except flyingafamilyfriendwhoisalsoafamousorthopodheretoexamineyou.”

“YOU DID WHAT!? I’ve got surgeons here, Cas!”

“You don’t have this one! This one is from the Mayo, and he’s the best!”

“You had no right to pull a rich asshat move on these doctors!”

“Well guess what, my _lunatic_ boyfriend! I AM a rich asshat and so are you now, and YOU gave me your medical power of attorney so I COULD make rich asshat moves on your behalf!”

“Oh my gods, are you fucking kidding me with this? That was so you could pull me off the ventilator if I was braindead or something!”

“Oh yes, because that is so much better, fuck you very much, Mr My Life Doesn’t Matter Because I’m a Martyr!”

“Jesus! My life matters, OK!? That crap is just a thing cops have to think about!”

“You could have thought about it _with_ me!”

A young male nurse neither man had met before walked into the room. He was easily as tall as Dean and broader across the shoulders. “Gentlemen,” his deep baritone laced with authority brought them up short. “Detective Winchester, you require rest. It is time for your pain medication, and if you don’t stop causing a ruckus in here, I will also sedate you. Both of you,” and he looked pointedly at Castiel who looked away while the nurse injected the demerol.

“Better. Let’s keep it this way,” the nurse said, sounding like a high school principal shooing students out of detention. And he turned and walked out the door.

Dean settled back into the pillows, the warm embrace of opiates pulling him in, coursing through his body, making everything fuzzy, heavy, and delicious.

Cas groaned internally. He and Dean were in ten kinds of pain, and Dean was only being treated for the physical injuries. Fuck. Cas needed some barbiturates and some alone time. Being in the middle of everything and everyone was rubbing him raw. He was reaching the point where he wouldn’t be any good to himself or Dean.

This was fine, Cas told himself. This love is the sword by which they will live and die. Cas leaned forward and brushed his lips over a pain wrinkle on Dean’s forehead, smoothing it out and feeling the dry heat of a mild fever, “I also got us a kitten to keep Solo company. I hope you don’t mind. She’s very sweet.”

A slow, sticky smile spread over Dean’s face, “a kitten? A girl kitten? What’s her name?”

“Because her coat is a glossy bronze and black, I named her Scarab. But while we watched her on the breeder’s webcam, Adam and I started calling her ‘Scary.’ It suits her.”

“You got any pics of the new kid?” Dean asked his speech slurring, eyelids heavy and gummy.

“I might. Have a few…” Cas said slowly, gauging Dean’s fatigue.

Dean made a grabby hands gesture, “gimme, Cas.”

Cas thumbed his phone to the pictures and handed it to Dean who cooed over the cute little kitten. “We’re still having the mother of all fights later, babe,” he slurred as he drifted off to sleep.

Cas rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “I can hardly wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows kisses*


	40. The Oldest Poisons: Hemlock, Hydra Blood, Resentment and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are treading water, while Meg is bringing in the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch the racism tags in this chapter, dear friends, Roman is not a nice guy and he has evil thoughts.
> 
> I've been horribly sick for two months. I've needed multiple specialists, and so much medication I think I may develop mutations soon, but it's finally getting sorted.
> 
> Sarcasticbones and I got to spend some time together in the same place for the first time in two years. That was amazing. If anything could make me feel better, it was time with them.

Dean woke to the low rumbling baritone of Castiel reading aloud by his bedside:

 

> “Which path do you intend to take, Nell?" said the Constable, sounding very interested. "Conformity or rebellion?"
> 
> “Neither one. Both ways are simple-minded – they are only for people who cannot cope with contradiction and ambiguity.” 

Dean lay still not wanting the story to end. Not yet.

“I know you’re awake, baby,” Cas whispered, soft affection and something like bittersweet sorrow simmering just beneath the surface, “the indicators on your monitors come up when you wake.”

“That’s _Diamond Age_ ,” Dean murmured, voice still rough and thick with sleep, “it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hadn’t read it before. And it’s brilliant, so far. But I’m not sure how a girl’s coming-of-age story and her negotiations and subversions of the status quo is related to your mom, actually. Maybe you’ll tell me about that someday.”

“What?” Dean’s head ached, and he wanted to be held... and maybe to not do literary analysis and navel-gazing just now.  
  
“This book. Sam suggested it. He said it made you feel safe when things got rough with your mom.”

“Sam is an asshole.” Jesus, he had to get out of this bed, at the very least so that people would stop talking to each other about him, and he could get back in the driver’s seat of his own life.

“Funny. Sam said the same about you.” The blue eyes sparkled in mirth.

Dean rolled his own eyes in response, “just fuckin’ kiss me, Cas.”

And Cas stood, leaned over Dean, brushed the hair from his forehead, and placed a soft, warm kiss to his temple. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” 

“Like the bag of shit feels after someone lights it on fire and smashes it against their ex’s front door.”

“That good, huh?”

“That fuckin’ great,” Dean groaned as he tried to raise his right hand to his face without remembering the fucked up shoulder was immobilized and the pain nearly brought him off the bed.

Cas’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t draw attention to Dean’s pain, “you fling a lot of fiery poo at exes in your day, Dean?” Giving Dean his space by not fussing, even though his gut tightened in sympathy.

Dean guffawed and flinched, “dude, only at front doors of people who were poo-heads. Poo-heads. Heh. Poo is funny. My ribs and shoulder feel like they’re on fire.”

Cas chuckled, more bitter than amused, and clicked the nurse’s call button without even checking to see if Dean wanted meds for his pain. Dean wanted to grumble, I mean he really did, but then Nurse Joy strode in, and then Dean wanted to burn the whole thing down … because ...

“Hi, Professor Novak. Detective Winchester, I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

Nurse Joy patted Dean’s hand, and then she opened her lithe arms and pulled Cas into a tight, affectionate embrace. Dean seethed. Flaming poo, right there.

“Hey, hey hands off!” Dean snapped eyeing the beautiful woman with mistrust, in spite of himself. He was realizing he and Cas had always been on a clock, and their time was running out. Still, while they were pretending things were fine, Nurse Sweet Ass could get her mitts off his Cas. 

For Cas’ part, the iron grip of anxiety that had been crushing his heart since Dean went missing loosened just a fraction -- the green-eyed monster surfacing in Cas’ green-eyed boyfriend had to be a good sign, right? It had to mean that the underlying tension and distance he was feeling from Dean was just more of the opiates making him moody. (Opiates always sound like so much fun, and they’re fun when Dean is talking about poo. They’re less fun when Dean is throwing everyone out of his room because he “needs some fuckin’ time alone from all you fuckin’ ghouls hangin’ around and watchin’ me not bleed to death or suffocate.”)

“I’d worry, detective,” the tall, glossy-skinned goddess smiled, “but I’m positive you’re not up to getting out of that bed and chasing me down the hall, even if you were fine with running after perps while your ass is hanging out of your gown. And speaking of gowns, I know there’s nowhere in that one to carry your handcuffs.” Joy worked her way through Dean’s vitals while he sulked dramatically.

“Touch him again...” Dean told her, raising his jaw, and with an icy bite in his tone.

“Dean…” Cas began.

“Shut up, Cas. Let me tell you something, Nurse Sexy, if I had my handcuffs on me, I’d be using them on _my boyfriend_ , not you. And I’d have him moanin’ and screamin’ my name so loud that the other patients would think we were shootin’ a porno up in here. You’d have to clear out this wing. And we wouldn’t invite you. … _Whoever_ you are.” Dean glared at her, the ache in his shoulder beginning to thump and throb.

She didn’t take the bait. She’d dealt with thousands of patients, and as shitty as Winchester was feeling right now, from the way all his people talked about him, even his bad temper and his tendency to panic at his own vulnerability, she knew Dean Winchester was a good guy -- ‘a prince among men,’ his blonde partner had called him. Besides, this attractive, growling cop was nothing compared to the actual poo-throwing (yes, she’d heard that part of the conversation) patients she’d dealt with over the course of her career. She could completely understand and empathize with his feelings -- between the pain, the immobility, the lack of privacy, the emotional toll of kidnapping and torture, and the drugs they had him on, Dean was actually doing great. He was impossibly strong, and he had every reason not to be. Joy smiled gamely and she continued her workup.

“I’m Nurse Joy. I was the charge nurse on the ER the night they brought you in. I’m very glad to see your vitals looking so good. Your O2 really makes me smile, as does the return of your sense of humor.” Cas, who had been about two seconds from gagging Dean with the nearest dirty sock, felt the tension ease between his shoulder blades. Joy could handle Dean just fine. Tears of gratitude gathered in the corners of his eyes. Gods he was so fucking _tired_ , but Joy was here, Dean was here, they were all still here. All they had to do now was get through it. One fucking painful and frightening minute at a time.

“You friends with Cas then?” Dean asked, tone guileless, as she injected his pain meds. Normally he was very good at his manipulation game, but with the moodswings making him catapult from pissy to horny to snarky, he could play innocent all he wanted, but Joy wasn’t falling for it.

“We’ve had meals together in the cafeteria a few times, and -- ” she replied lightly. Dean realized she was about to say something else when he saw Cas give her a small shake of his head. _His_ boyfriend's secret conversation with _his_ nurse. This woman was touching Dean's body like she had a right to -- filling it with chemicals that made him nauseous and tired and sad. Yeah, like this woman getting her claws into his boyfriend was gonna happen. Did these people think they could sneak shit past him like a little bitchy civilian? Fuck that. He was still Dean Fucking Winchester. He leaned his head back on the pillow for a second to try to wrangle his thoughts -- pull together a winning strategy to figure out what was up with what and who was seeing who. Ah. ... “...So, we’ll be seeing more of you then?” Dean asked, all smooth and casual as fuck.

Joy smiled brightly as Cas shot Dean a dark look. Dean smirked. Heh. Dean Fucking Winchester. And a straight flush right there, baby.

Apparently Joy was more on Team Dean than Team Cas at this moment. “Yes, detective,” she spoke directly to him. “When we’re able to discharge you, Castiel wanted you to have home health care so he’s contracted me to check in on you every two days to make sure you’re getting your meds and your bandages are changed properly.

The slithering, possessive beast deep inside Dean snarled low and dangerous, Dean didn’t think of himself as a possessive person, per se, but his love was big and deep and wide, and it didn’t leave room for being someone’s side piece. That snarling voice was met by the cold, battle-hardened gladiator who lived just behind Dean’s heart. The one that fought all the wars and defended all of his loved ones, but especially himself. The later was the more dangerous because that one didn’t give a fuck what you thought - that inner warrior was always going to ride onto the field to protect what was his, and no one was ever going to tell him to stop. Oh yeah. He and Cas were gonna be loud, fast talking about this too. But not yet.

For the here and now, Dean would hold his tongue. He allowed a bright smile to rise to his lips and an aw shucks twang to seep into his tone, “look, ma’am. I’m real sorry I was a dick. My shoulder is hurting something fierce,” he threw in a suitable wince. “So, thank you! That’s awfully nice of you. I know you’re gonna be a big help,” he told her. Cas eyebrow rose and his jaw set, doing Cas’ dom thing, but screw him and his sneaking around.

“Don’t thank me,” she patted his arm and then moved to update his chart, “that’s a good boyfriend you have. He just wants to make things easier for you and not subject you to an invasion of strangers in your home.” Invasion. Fuck yes. Dean felt invaded. His skin full of broken organs and fractured bones; torn apart by strangers, who never should have gotten a jump on him; examined, poked and prodded by the army of specialists Cas kept letting into his room like the damned thing had a revolving door and one of those ‘take-a-number’ rolls hung up next to the room number. “Now serving number 35 to poke at the Winchester slab of meat.”

 “Yes. Yes, I do,”  Dean told her as the black fire flickered to life in his eyes. Cas’ eyes narrowed, and Dean’s followed suit. Joy wrapped up her exam, “you’re looking good, detective. We’re sending up some coffee, you may have _one_ cup, and your surgical consults will be in shortly.” Oh yay. Another party of ghoulish looky-loos.

“Thank you,” Cas told her sincerely as he hugged her again. Seriously? Why don't they just rip each others’ clothes off and fuck right there on the floor?

When Cas closed the door behind her, he turned back to Dean who was glaring fire through narrowed eyes.

Dean’s flung his good arm outward in chopping gesture, and his face was pale with anger. “What the fuck, Cas?!”

“Dean, we’ll need help once we get you home. I assumed you’d want to get home as soon as possible, and that means having help at home.”

“Oh, don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, wiseass. She’s a fucking charge nurse, and you’ve hired her to do the work of a medical assistant!”

“I like her, Dean!” Cas was not backing down from this.

“That’s not the point! She could run the fucking ER with one hand tied behind her back, and you’re going to have her slapping bandaids on my boo boos!”

 “Oh, so a moment ago you were looking at her like you were going to cut her hands off for even touching me, possessive much? And  now you’re defending her honor?”

Dean ground his teeth. “I can be both! I’m the one in this bed with half his body ground to hamburger. I can be both irrational and rational if I want! And you can keep your hands to yourself, stop acting like an entitled prick who can command entire armies of minions, and for fuck’s sake, stop this fucking parade of specialists who are in here every five minutes to inspect and slap their USDA Prime stamp on my ass.” Oh he was worked up alright.

Cas took a deep breath. Dean was clearly trying to provoke him into a fight and that was just a waste of whatever precious energy either of them had left. Although it was tempting because, seriously, his boyfriend was being a right dick at just this moment. Cas took a deep breath, ignored the personal barbs, and charged forward, “yes, yes she’s going to be in our home putting bandaids on your boo boos, Dean. Because someone has to do it, and I’m exhausted by the constant stream of police, and your efficiently run machine of a family, and I want someone **_I_** know and _I_ like around to help us!” 

“I’ll tell you again, Cas, they’re police. They’re trying to help! That’s **_their_** **_job_** **!** It’s not yours!” And they get paid to do their jobs, Dean thought. They don’t get paid to hand out ice cream and balloons to babies. Jesus Christ, a charge nurse. 

Cas’ tone kicked into icy territory, “don’t you fucking tell me about what my job is or I'm going to be the one slapping your ass …”

Just then, the room door opened, fuck all these interruptions, and Dr Carson, the hospital's orthopod, and Dr Grayson, Cas’ family friend, walked in and introduced themselves. It was obvious to Dean by their body language that Dr Carson was fangirling all over Cas’ family friend. Well, that and the third-date-style lust-fueled synergy. Except their lust was bloodlust … inspired by the thought of  cutting into Dean’s body ...

The two surgeons kept completing each other's sentences, complimenting each other’s insights, and generally holding their own love-in at the end of Dean’s bed. He gritted his teeth as Cas listened carefully and nodded along to all the medical things the docs were saying.

Then everything paused and Dean realized he was supposed to say something. “So that seems great, right?” he asked hoping that he was tracking and this was the question about the super space age something blah blah reconstructive blah blah surgery with minimal recovery time and minimal potential for scarring and stiffness in the joint in his shoulder because blah blah they were both geniuses who loved each others’ work and the toys they were gonna play with. Inside Dean’s body.

“Yes, it’s very good, detective,” Dr Carson told him. “I’ll be assisting Dr Grayson, and we can get this done first thing in the morning. You’re alright then with us cleaning up that knee then too while we’ve got you under? And that quick removal of that old scarring in your elbow?”

Well, that was maybe one not-downside. That loose cartilage in his knee since high school football had caused him pain sometimes, and he knew he was headed for osteoarthritis, he felt it every time he ran in the winter. And he sure as hell felt it every time that fucking psychopath threw a weighted punch to his face that knocked over the chair he was tied to, hitting the concrete storage room floor. He felt it in his bad elbow too. … And that elbow wasn’t just susceptible to the cold. That thing was squishy every time he rolled over onto it. It creeped him out every damned time, but that would teach him to get drunk and then fuck in the shower with a girl who used coconut-oil on her hair. Slick surfaces, lucky they hadn’t broken their necks, but what a fun way to go … Jesus it was hard to concentrate while on these meds. He pulled himself back to the topic at hand.. “Sure,” he told them both sincerely, “I appreciate this.”

They shook hands with added affirming back-patting, and then the two surgeons left the room together, chattering like kids in a schoolyard. Cas walked them out and then sighed and took a deep breath before he returned to Dean’s room. He wasn’t stupid. Dean was strong and self reliant anyway. And the docs had warned him that the opiates Dean was on were going to make him emotionally volatile, in addition to itchy, horny, distracted and a hundred other things. Not to mention all the trauma Dean was still even coming to terms with it actually happening. Dean had a lot on his plate. 

And Cas was tired of being the B-team here, and he’d been making decisions for them both and moving to deal with stuff unilaterally while Dean was spending his days sleeping off drugs and pain, both internal and external. Yeah. He’d seen Dean’s face when the two surgeons walked in together. And it was right on the heels of his temper tantrum over Joy. Maybe he should have just married the asshole while he was coming out of the anesthesia. Then he could have stopped tiptoeing around Dean’s ego and just slammed this shit through because swear-to-fucking-Zeus, they were getting out of this hospital the fucking moment he could get anyone to sign the release forms. Cas paused and stared at the door to Dean’s room. Yeah. Fuck. A storm was brewing in there, and he was walking right into it.

***

“Yes, I’m positive he wants to sell this piano,” Adam told the instrument dealer who had come to the loft to look at the Fazioli concert grand. This was the third time he’d reassured the man. Something about custom something hand built something. Adam liked it when Dean and Ellen played their guitars together; he didn’t know anything about pianos. The dealer offered a figure, and Adam nodded and passed over the paperwork in an envelope. Cas has told him to accept the first offer; Adam didn’t understand worlds where people didn’t barter, but whatever. The dealer nodded and shook Adam’s hand and said he’d have his people here to pick it up this afternoon.

Dean’s friend Andrea, who had volunteered, after being introduced to Cas at the hospital, to help move in Dean’s stuff, and the decorator, Piper Perkins, were studying the mix of linen roman shades and full length linen drapes Cas had over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the loft. Adam hadn’t noticed that before, spending most of his time here wallowing in the attention and comfort of Cas and Dean. But the sleeping area had the drapes on rings suspended from tracks, and the living areas had the roman shades. It was all the same magnolia-white linen, and looking now, there had to be hundreds of yards of the stuff. And he loved it. He loved it all so much for the way light filtered through it, but it was so clean and positive. Yeah, they weren’t changing the drapes while they “made room” for Dean. He felt sure he and Dean agreed on this much.

“Piper! Piper! We’re not changing the window treatments!” Adam called (what? He watched HGTV just like everyone else) as he loped across the loft to the two women.

“Oh, but they’re so soft and unstructured, they don’t really suit Dean,” the attractive, blonde woman told him. There was no doubt she knew her stuff. She’d cleared out one of the guest rooms and built a comfortable home physical therapy space in half a day. And getting rid of the piano was fine -- Cas said he wanted to play at the university practice rooms anyway. And sure, there were a couple of low sofas that were too squishy and too squatty for a man recovering from knee, thigh and shoulder surgery to be pulling himself out of. She’d replaced those with sofas that were firmer and still comfy. And yes, sure, the therapy spa-tub she’d help Cas choose was fucking awesome. If Adam hadn’t known it was added in after-the-fact, he’d have sworn by the way she integrated it into the bathroom, that it was the original tub. But she didn’t know Dean if she thought he had a problem with drapes, cushions, and even floral prints. Come to think of it, the teal and white bamboo print throw pillows from the old couches were staying. He knew for a fact Dean dug those from the day they’d gotten drunk, watched Arrow, and made a pillow fort from all of Cas’ couch pillows and cushions.

“Piper, look, we gotta talk.”

“Adam, I really think …”

“No. I promise you that Dean loves basically everything here -- just focus on sorting out the furniture and making sure there’s nothing he can trip on while he’s getting around on crutches in here.”

“If you’re the one who loves the blinds, Adam, we can just leave them in your room.”

“No, we’re not decorating a bedroom for me.”

“But Dr Novak said you were living here now. That you’re going to be live-in.” 

Adam guffawed and Piper had the decency to look embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant, Mr Singer...”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off, really this wasn’t the point, “I am currently acting as Cas’ personal assistant. So, you’re not wrong about me being The Help.”

“No! That’s not what I meant. Dr Novak said you are his brother. And you’ll live here with him and Dean, and we’re to make over the guests’ half of the loft for family as Dean will be using one room for physical therapy and you will be living in the other. Cas wants the entertainment area redecorated so that it is a comfortable multimedia space for you. And he said you needed a place to study. Are you at ASU? I graduated from ASU.”

“He said I was his brother?” Gods could this emotional quagmire get any deeper? Don’t answer that, he told himself. Jesus.

Piper consulted the work order, “permanent suite for my brother, Adam,” is right here, along with ‘media space’ and ‘study space’ I was thinking Sennheiser electronics. I know Dr Novak prefers Bang Olufsen because there’s a dealer at Fashion Square, but Sennheiser has some excellent high end products with lovely modern but not too-modern styling. You know? We can get you Grado headphones if you want to keep things quiet.”

Jesus. They were actually discussing how he was going to listen to music while looking classy, “give me your work order, and I’ll cross it off.”

“But,” she hesitated, this was billable after all, “he said you needed your own room. It should be ‘comfortable,’ and ‘private.’”

“Um… Cas is mistaken. He … uh… he’d get more use out of you designing a comfortable and private guest room.” Cas just doesn’t know it yet.

***

When Dean woke again, he was floating in a cloud of opiates and anxiety from shadowy dreams he couldn’t remember. Cas was tucking a quilt around him, where had it come from? Right. Something about the coffee shop ladies. Fuck his mouth was the Sahara if the Sahara was covered in sweaters.

Goddamn, Cas was sexy with his fucked up hair, and his pajama pants and one of his many faded UC Davis tees. Just before he settled back into the chair he’d been sleeping in, Cas yanked up the pants where the drawstring had let them slip low on his hips, and Dean thought that was a goddamn tragedy. He drifted off.

Time stretched and snapped back again, and then Cas was leaning at the side of Dean’s bed, smelling like sex and home and pressing a straw to Dean’s mouth. Dean closed his lips around the straw and pulled a cool sip of of water into his mouth. His dry tongue absorbed the water completely.  Another pull of water was absorbed into his gums. On his third sip, he actually accumulated enough water in his mouth to need to swallow. Heh. Dean raised his chin and made contact with Cas’ cool baby blues. Dean threw as much heat into his eyes as he could muster while tightening his full pink lips around the straw and swallowing slowly, working his throat deliberately.

Cas stilled.

Oh. Fun! Dean felt the heat and tension coil low in his stomach. Cas’ eyes narrowed and the lines between his eyebrows knitted in irritation. Such a pretty blue that got all stormy and dirty when Cas was pissed off or when he wanted to fuck. Quirking his lips up, Dean poured the gathering lust into his eyes, flicking his tongue against the straw and sucking it in between his lips, he pulled another slow swallow while holding eye contact with Cas. Irritation warred with hunger, and maybe a flicker of amusement in Cas’ gaze.

“Stop that,” Cas’ tone was soft but clipped as he pulled the straw from Dean’s mouth and placed  the half empty cup of water on the table next to Dean’s bed. Dean worked his hand out from beneath the blankets, and caught Cas’ bicep, squeezing it gently, and then brushing across the skin of Cas’ inner arm with his dry fingers. Stroking his knuckles over Cas’ pec and feeling muscle twitch beneath the skin. Cas’ skin felt a little chilled, probably because it was a fucking icebox in this place. Chasing body heat, Dean unfurled his fingers and slipped them down the inside of Cas’ forearm.

Goose bumps rose on Cas’ skin, and he swatted Dean’s fingers away, and then carefully tucked the errant hand back beneath the blankets. “You’re four days from trying to die on me, you’re running hot and cold, and I haven’t forgotten that the last time we spoke, you were incredibly unhappy with me.” Dean’s lips quirked, and he caught Cas’ gaze again and winked. Cas’ eyes remained cool and distant, “don’t. We need to talk things out, and you need to rest.”

Dean pointedly broke Cas’ gaze, looked slowly and deliberately down at his own crotch, and then back up to Cas’ blue eyes.

Cas slid his hand gently across Dean’s thigh and up over where he estimated Dean’s balls to be. Dean groaned and tried to arch into the touch, and then he hissed in pain at the pulling stitches and muscle in his thigh. Rage flashed across his face, he could feel the fire and malice bubbling just beneath his skin. But Cas didn’t look away. He just slid the hand soothingly up Dean’s stomach to his chest and then cupped Dean’s face with it. Still fury-lit from within, Dean turned his face into the touch and flicked his tongue over Cas’ palm. Cas’ eyes narrowed, and Dean thought ‘fuck this’ one spare second before he bit down on the heel of Cas’ hand. Cas grunted and met the rage in Dean’s eyes with his own.

“I’m not exactly thrilled with you either, you know,” Cas told him pushing two fingers into Dean’s mouth.

They stared at each other as Dean sucked and worried the pads of fingers between his teeth. He was gratified at the darkening of Cas’ gaze and the smirk that was all teeth and snarl. Holy fuck this was exactly what he needed. He released Cas and licked his lips, because it was time to move this along already. But Cas didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he continued his fingers along the path of Dean’s jaw, ghosting over the tender flesh of his ear drawing a shiver from Dean. Who caught the inside of Cas’ wrists in his teeth, almost, but not quite, hard enough to draw blood. The pulse danced beneath his lips, and Dean swept over it with his tongue, sucking hard. Cas moaned low and slid his other hand back down Dean’s stomach and over Dean’s hardening dick. Giving his balls a quick and not-so-gentle tug before slipping his hand over the stitches in Dean’s bad thigh, and pressing down with his fingers. Dean hissed in pain again and bucked up into it, moaning loudly against Cas’ wrist.

“I told you to stop,” Cas hissed.

“You first,” Dean spat back, releasing Cas’ wrist but not his burning glare.

When Cas didn’t look flinch or look away, Dean tilted his head, rubbing his beard scruff against Cas’ hand that still lingered against his jaw.

Cas let Dean scent him like a cat, and then he dragged his hand up Dean’s cheek to wrap his fingers in Dean’s hair and give it a sharp tug. Just enough pressure to remind him. He growled, “you’ve got stitches everywhere, and your shoulder is still immobilized. You don’t want to get hurt.”

“I don’t?” Dean whispered pulling against the hand firmly wrapped in his hair.

Cas inhaled through his nose and breathed out a couple of times. “This is over the line, Dean. We shouldn’t do this.”

“You love it.”

“You’re high.”

“Been high before. You didn’t mind then.”

“Fuck you,” Cas snarled dark and low.

“Goddammit, yes.”

Cas’ tightened his fingers in Dean’s hair, and the pulse monitor beeped in protest. Cas glared at the readout, and Dean smirked. It would be easy enough to dislodge the thing from his braced hand. He just needed Cas to cooperate...

Cas blinked first. He withdrew his hand from Dean’s scalp and brushed the hair back from Dean’s forehead. Then he took a small step back.

Dean 1; Cas 0. He’d break Cas yet.

 “Your family friend -- money and Mayo, that must be nice.” Cas flinched. Dean 2; Cas 0.

“I’m going to go get you more water and see if Jo has some lipbalm for you,” Cas said. “And I’m going to send Sam in because he’s next to visit.” Cas turned and walked out the door. Dean watched that fine ass walk away and leave him in that bed alone. The boiling anger receded and his mood fell through the floor. Alone fucking sucked. The despair rose and kept rising, and Dean closed his eyes imagining his mattress to the be the room’s high water mark. Would it drown him? Acid roiled up from his stomach and he couldn’t catch his breath. His pulse monitor beeped its warning, and he yanked it off his finger in irritation.  A moment later, Sam stepped through the door with a nurse on his heels.

Without speaking to him, the nurse began rooting around beneath Dean’s blankets, searching for the stupid little sensor thing to stick back on his finger because gods forbid his every breath, heartbeat and drop of piss not be measured, monitored and managed.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked, his face slack with lack of sleep and worry.

Dean rolled his good shoulder beneath the blankets in an approximation of a shrug.

“Don’t shrug at me, jerk. I’ve been sleeping on a cot I’m sharing with Jo.”

Dean stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes, “crashing on a cot, hey? Now that I’m all heroic and shit, your wife finally figure out I’m the better brother?”

Sam barked out a harsh laugh, “asshole! Just answer the fucking question.”

“Itchy,” Dean coughed out. “And horny. And pissed. Cas fucking walked out on me.”

“Poor Cas.” Sam laughed, but his laughter sat on the surface, floating on four days of worry. Cas had been really good for Dean, anyone could see that, but Dean was being a handful and a half, and Sam was really hoping Cas had the patience for all Dean’s bullshit.

“Fuck you, I’m your fucking brother,” Dean groused, not-pouting. Not pouting at all.

“Yeah, well, knowing how opiates get to you, you’re gonna be itchy, horny, pissy, hair-triggered and impulsive until they take you off the pain meds. That’s probably going to be awhile yet. So, don’t be an asshole, and please try to not break up with the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Hate you.” 

“I know.”

“Read me the fucking book.”

Sam smiled, “okay.”

***

Dick Roman was pleased. He finally had his goddamned plane, he was finally getting the hell out of this godforsaken city. He had a plan set in motion to get rid of both Winchester and his partner, and he was having those quail on his plate for dinner. He had heard the door about an hour ago and assumed it was Carmen getting back from the farmer’s market with the produce. Carmen took for-fucking-ever at the market; lazy Mexicans. Whatever, nothing was going to distract him from his good mood. He was promised a glaze of local mesquite honey, Seville orange juice, and a dusting of cumin. He hoped not too much cumin. Why the fuck did they have to dump cumin on everything in this fucking desert? The Spanish conquered the New World, and these backwards Mexican cooks acted like the only contribution of the Spanish was cumin, tile, and stucco.

He poured himself another glass of the wine that Carmen had set out before leaving for the market, walked to the large mirror over the fireplace and inspected his reflection. He smoothed his hands down the front of the fine merino wool fabric of his well-fitted jacket. Dean Winchester might peacock around in Zegna off-the-rack, but Dick Roman wore bespoke Kiton. It had taken several phone calls, a Skype session, and the cost of a first class round trip ticket for the courier, but Roman had this rich, navy suit. He wore it with a tonal jacquard Stefano Ricci dress shirt in a jewel blue. His tie and pocket square were a deep crimson silk with a subtle medallion print. It might have been a little much for the daytime, but Roman was one-hundred percent done with these people who thought you wore cowboy boots with suits, and considered the monstrosity of a bolo tie (god!) with a heavy chunk of turquoise to be a suitable substitute for proper masculine attire. Cowboy boots. No, his monk-strap, calfskin Cucinellis in smooth burgundy were how you completed a suit like this one. Yes, he knew Lucchese custom boots could run twice what these Cucinellis cost, but why even bother when all they did was mark a man as a part of this caballero culture. Surely a slippery slope to dancing la marcha to mariachis while drinking tequila. That shit was made from cactus and worms. 

No, Roman was finally leaving all of this sand and sad excuse for civilization behind. Not only did he have his suit, his shoes, his sunglasses, and a rock solid plan for erasing Dean Winchester from existence. He had his towncar and his G6  on stand-by. He was leaving this godforsaken city in style.

He leaned closer to the mirror, inspected his face inch by inch, the eyebrows, the thin skin underneath his eyes. And nope, he was still handsome.  Despite the stress of being cooped up here, despite the dry desert air in this lizard and carnie infested hellhole. Despite being met with an unexpected bump in the plan. A couple really, all courtesy of Detective Winchester, too pretty for his own good, too stupid too realize a true chance at glory when being offered one. When being offered a seat at the table of one of the greats. Roman scoffed, and turned around at the sound of the door opening. Winchester had a beautiful face, and an even more beautiful body. But there were plenty of other beautiful people in this world. Beautiful people who would fall to their knees at his feet for just a chance to suck him off. Detective Dean Winchester. A no one. And soon he would also be nothing.

A short, slender man, with olive skin and delicate yet sharp facial hair walked in, pushing a small cart. The aroma wafting around them was mouth watering. Yet, this man was not Carmen. And Dick Roman did not like unexpected changes. He swallowed the spit pooling in his mouth, pushed hands in his pocket, cocked his head and demanded:

“Who are you?”

“Torres, sir.”

Dick Roman wrinkled his nose; another wetback. They were everywhere. It was an invasion. Pouring over the border in the backs of trucks and crossing the desert with their eight children per family. Sniffing, dirty brats they brought on their backs for the free education and healthcare at taxpayer’s expense.

“Where is Carmen?”

“His wife went into labor, sir.”

Dick Roman wrinkled his nose again. He didn’t know Carmen had a wife. Who was pregnant. Probbaly another fucking anchor baby. Why did he even ask? Of course it was going to be the same story. More illegals with their plebeian mouths to feed. Gods he didn’t need to know any of this. He didn’t care about these people. They were interchangeable and utterly replaceable.

“Tell him he’s fired.”

The man blanched, paled under his olive skin until it looked almost green.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled.

Good, this was good.

“But your quail has been prepared to perfection, sir. And I have a Bordeaux here for you that the sommelier from Hexx and the chef agreed was the perfect accompaniment,”  the man … Torres … said and lifted the silver lid off the plate. Another fragrant, mouthwatering wave aroma hit Dick Roman, so he flicked his wrist to indicate the man to serve the food.

The Bordeaux opened with a satisfying, clean, resonant pop as Dick sat and poured into a taller glass with a moderate sized bowl. Specially designed for its full body and aroma redolent with fruit and smoky aromatics. A sexy stunner.

“Bon appetit,” Torres said, and Dick lifted his utensils without giving him another look.

His right hand started to tremble when he was lifting the last bite of tender, delicious quail flesh to his lips. He tried to stand, when a sudden rush of nausea hit; but his legs seemed to not want to cooperate. Breathing in slowly, then holding his breath, mustering all his strength, Dick Roman held on to the edge of the table with one hand and tried to move his other the five inches over to where his phone lay. Agonizingly slow and clumsy, oddly pale palm crawled across the table top. His fingernails looked blue.

“Poison?” Dick Roman thought.

How melodramatic, but also aptly imperial.

His breathing grew shallower and quicker, his mouth filled with foul tasting saliva, and another wave of nausea roiled in his gut. His fingertip touched the cool glass of the phone screen, but then he was toppled over, convulsing in agonizing pain, vomiting what felt like his insides out.

He must have passed out, or closed his eyes, or lost consciousness, but when he came to, he felt oddly inflated and quiet. The convulsions had stopped and he knew this could not have been a good thing.

There was pair of black killer heels walking over to him. Their muted click. Leather pants.

The owned of the killer heels squatted down and Dick Roman saw a strong thin thigh, and a part of a firm buttock. Then dark burgundy-dipped hair, and finally Meg’s face lowered into the top slice of his blurry vision.

“Bummer,” Meg said. Her breath smelled like cherry gum.

“You’re already blue, I hoped to get here for the cramps and the agony.” She popped her gum, ran a gloved finger over Dick’s face, down his neck, tapping lightly on his Adam’s apple. The gentle touch felt like death. It was death. And suddenly, now, Dick Roman was afraid. Every cell in his body wanted to beg, bribe, grovel. But he couldn't even move his lips.

She leaned in close again, letting her hair hang in his face, he couldn’t move enough even to twitch it off his skin. “Dick,” she spoke, tone sweet, “you are going to die.”  Then she shoved him up -- propped his back against a settee and arranged his legs straight out in front of him. Like a small child. Like a doll to play with. She rose and began pacing back and forth in front of him, those killer heels clicking out a tattoo on the elegant stone tiled floor.

“And let me tell you why. Wait.” She paused and brought one finger up to her plum-painted lips, looking to his face as if considering. “I’m seriously being like a supervillain right now. Telling you all the secrets of my mastermind plot right before you die. … This is kind of fun.”

Roman tried to roll his eyes. It caused a sick feeling in his head, like that feeling you get when you’ve got the flu, and your head is throbbing, and that sick-and-just-wrong feeling you get right before the fatigue pulls you under into sleep. All he could do was slouch there feeling sick. Slouch there and take it.

She resumed pacing. “Where to begin? There are soooo many things. Shall we start with your malignant narcissism? Your petty snobbery? The fact that you use far too much hair product -- which fools no one into thinking your hair isn’t thinning, Dick? That all the elegant tailoring and sophisticated cologne in the world won’t hide the fact that you’ve got a very small dick, Dick?”

Her tone slid from sweet to mockery, her tongue dropping barbs like knives against his vulnerable places. He tried to swallow the bile and vomit in his mouth, but it was just beginning to pool. Soon it would be running down his chin. She noticed. “Tsk tsk. You’ve ruined that beautiful suit.” She squatted in front of him again, face wide and open in mock concern, her glittering brown eyes promising darker things. She pulled the silk pocket square from his pocket and blotted the vomit from his chin. “There,” she told him in satisfaction and she shoved the soiled fabric back into his pocket.

She rose to her feet again and placed her hands on her hips. “You hurt my Castiel, Roman.” She shook her head. “You should not have done that. Let’s be honest, there were so many things you should not have done here in Castiel’s city, but let’s pause the accounting on your offenses here and take a walk down memory lane, shall we?”

Roman’s pupils dilated as his fight or flight kicked in. “Oh, now, none of that, Dick. I was just about to ask you if you remember what I said to you the first time we worked together. One sec... Oh, maybe half a sec. You might not live long enough for a whole second. Try, ok? Don’t fuck up this for me too.”

Meg took the two steps over to a duffel sitting on a chair. She quickly pulled her hair up into a twist and secured it with an invisibobble. Then she reached in the bag and grabbed a short, wavy blonde wig and pulled it on. She tousled her fingers through it. Then, she drew out a compact, popped it open, and with her finger, applied a bit of contour under her cheekbones and jawline. A quick pat of soft gloss over her lips, and she turned back to Roman, shifting her posture ever-so-slightly -- more overt smut, less professional killer. Roman made a choking sound. His time was running short.

“Ah, so you do remember, after all. I knew you would.” She slinked toward him. “We were in Central Asia, remember? I was operating out of that villa on the U.A.E. coast, running a pipeline all across the desert, pulling people out. Remember? I was with my intelligence unit, and you were some global businessman the CIA was getting information from in exchange for … er… sabotaging the competition. Remember that, Dick? That girl was what? All of seventeen? Eighteen? Oh don’t get your back up, you fucker, I don’t care that you courted her 'traditionally' and provided an ‘appropriate’ dowry for her.” Meg raised her hands in concession, “and no, I never told anyone. Professionalism. It’s a thing, you know? But, I promised you I would kill you if you ever hurt that child. Remember? … And here we are. Where’s your bride now, Dick?”

She slapped him again, just enough to make him spew drool and bile down his chin. She tsked again, shaking her head in mockery at the state of him.

“Do you remember her name, Dick? Adara?”

She stopped her pacing to squat down in front of him again. “You know they said that name means virgin, which was your area of interest, wasn’t it Dick? Getting your possessive, controlling, and narcissistic hands on an innocent who couldn’t recognize you for what you were and wouldn’t have the life experience to stand up to you? Right, Dick?” She leaned into his face again, hair tangling in the bile running down his chin.

“But you know what her mother told me when I finally tracked her down? She told me in their family, Adara means ‘fire.’ They named their daughter fire. Take that in a minute, Dick. They named their daughter for the fire.” She flicked his nose, then she rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips. She stood in front of him, a few steps back so he could see her entire face and body, the predatory posture, the barely contained fury.

“Let me tell you something about fire, Dick. Because fire is indiscriminate -- you feed it, and it grows. It doesn’t care if you lit it this morning or you lit it ten years ago. It feeds. That’s its nature. And I may have sat vigil on this fire a long time, but you’ve been feeding it since I came to work for you here in Castiel’s city.” She rose gracefully on the balls of her feet, “let me count the ways.”

She ticked them off on her fingers, “you hurt my Castiel when you went after Dean. And your reasons were so pathetic. Oh, you say it was because you wanted his kid brother, but you did it because he rejected you. You thought you could fuck that fine ass.” She scoffed. “Seriously, Roman. You’re ridiculous.” She ticked another finger.

“You caused havoc in the communities here, you could have bought these people out fair and square. You’re a goddamned rich asshole, Dick. But no, you sowed seeds of discord to lower property values. Like a cheap rich asshole. Classless, Dick.” She ticked another finger.

She paused in her counting, “and maybe if you were just being a cheap, shady rich asshole, that might have been at least understandable. I mean, in a rich asshole kind of way. But no,” she began ticking on her fingers again, “you chose the businesses you chose because you’re racist and sexist. You’re a racist, sexist dick, Dick.”

She sat down on the floor in front of him, pulled her phone from her pocket, thumbed the camera up and began recording. “This is going to be a lot for your self-loving brain to muddle through, so concentrate. I love my man more than life; he is the endgame I can never have because my hands are covered in blood and my soul is black with rot. That’s called being selfless. Am I going slow enough for you, Dick?”

She patted his face sharply, twice.

“My man loves his man. They are each other’s endgame. Two pure souls. And look what you did.” 

She shut the camera off and looked down at it, “that little video is going to make a nice addition to the vault.” Then she pocketed her phone. She rose and walked over to the chair. She pulled the wig off and repacked her bag. And then she turned back to Roman one last time. “And so you’re going to die slowly. In your own vomit, piss and shit. Your nervous system will stop communicating with your brain. Your heart and lungs will forget how to exchange oxygen. And you will suffocate. Reciprocity. It’s a thing, Dick.”

His body seized up, his face a rictus of agony. She took several steps back from the rapidly spreading pool of urine.

Dick died. Meg snapped one pic for her employers' files. Then she picked up her bag, turned, and walked out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed you all. Hope this chapter makes up from some of the absence. **kisses**


	41. Coffee and Antinomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has some words for Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence: intense writers block and imposter syndrome. I’m working through it now. Gah! I never want to feel that way again.

Jess and Sam walked down the hall of the hospital with hands intertwined, talking, their voices low.

“I know you’d really like him home with us, and I really want to be there for him in his recovery. I can't imagine how difficult this is going to be,” Jess’ voice soothed over the well worn territory. They’d been having this conversation since she’d returned from spending the night with Meg.

“I know you do, baby, and I’d really feel better if he was where you could keep a close eye on him, but we’re going to do what Dean wants,” Sam told her squeezing her hand.

“I guess,” she paused, “but Dean’s always there for us. He’s taken care of us since we were kids. And he’s stubborn. Maybe too stubborn to do what’s best for himself.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We still have to work with his stubborn ass.” Sam sighed and thought back to Dean hugging those kids beneath that tree, and how when asked about it, Dean said he did it because he wanted to. Dean had said that other thing too. That he liked Cas and his friends because they were direct about what they wanted and needed. And that Dean didn’t have to think so much about whether he was taking up too much space, or just being too much. It had been on Sam’s mind as he watched Dean in that hospital bed seeming small and human when all of Sam’s life, his big brother had been his larger-than-life hero. He’d understood Dean made sacrifices for other people, but he hadn’t understood until recently that maybe Dean didn’t think he could have his own happiness, contentment, and love beyond what he did for others.

And that maybe now Dean was seeing something different in Cas.

Sam breathed out slowly like in yoga class when they tell you it’s supposed to be cleansing, “it may have taken me more than a hot minute, but I think I understand this thing with Dean and Cas better now, babe. Cas needs to know we’re in it with him. And Cas also needs to to hear that he’s gotta make some space for us too.”

Jess nodded knowing Sam could be incredibly persuasive when he wanted to be. “We’ll make this work for all of us.”

They arrived at the common room where the cops had been encamped. Now that Dean was out of immediate danger, the room had cleared out a bit. MK and Charlie were playing cards, their laptops processing something on a table behind them. Jo was stretched out on the cot reading something on a tablet while wearing garish pink Beats headphones. Apparently she was still hanging close in case someone wanted to arrest her. Honestly, Sam had been wanting to talk to Bobby about the Jo side of things, but scanning the room, he could see that Bobby wasn’t here. He’d have to wait to deal with that mess.

Jo sat up and pulled off her headphones, and Jess moved to hug her. Sam waved at MK and Charlie but declined their invite to join the game. He pivoted to walk down the hall to Dean’s room. Adam and Nguyen were seated together on chairs outside of the door.

“You Cas’ security too, Adam?” Sam asked, humor in his low tone. Nguyen kept reading his book, but he shifted in his chair a bit. God, everyone was so cozy.

“Nah. Just hanging out,” Adam replied, light and easy sensing his middle brother’s determined mood.

Sam nodded and moved to open the door. “Dean is sleeping,” Adam told him hand stilling Sam’s arm.

“I won’t wake him, kid - it’s Cas I need.”

Sam stepped into the room. Dean slept. Cas was stretched out in one of those inadequate-as-either-a-bed-or-a-chair recliners put in hospital rooms so a person can sleep in the same room as their hospitalized child or lover. Meg was curled in the recliner with Cas, her head on his chest, asleep.

In his right hand, Cas was holding a white packet of paper he was reading through. With his left hand, he was idly brushing his fingers through Meg’s hair. Even from his position by the door, Sam could see the dark circles beneath Cas’ eyes. Meg was wearing one of those hoodie sweatshirt dresses. The hood was up over her hair. Her legs were bare from above the knees down to her feet. Her visible skin was covered in bruises and bandages. Her face was pale.

Sam held the door so it closed quietly so as not to wake Dean, then he walked two steps into the room and took up station against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Cas settled the papers on the side table and looked up at Sam, tilting his head in question.

Sam shrugged, jerked his head at the door, and whispered almost inaudibly, “get a coffee with me?”

Cas’ eyes scanned carefully over Dean who was snoring softly and would be sleeping about another hour on his meds’ current schedule. Cas wrote a short note across the back of the papers, “gone down for coffee with Sam.” Then he rose, carefully disentangling himself from Meg and settling her tiny frame into the chair. She murmured something, and he responded in kind, too quietly for Sam to hear more than a few whispered words about Cas stepping out for a bit. She was really small curled up this way. Hard to reconcile, Sam thought, the violence with the vulnerability.

Cas laid a soft kiss on Dean’s temple and then followed Sam out of the room.

They rode in silence together in the elevator down the six flights to the Starbuck’s kiosk at the entrance to the courtyard. As they approached the young woman working the kiosk, Sam, voice soft, “hey, I know this isn’t your normal brew …”

“It’s good, Sam. I like all coffee.”

Sam ordered a large hibiscus iced tea and Cas got a gigantic Americano. Sam paid, and they took their drinks to a pair of chairs sheltering beneath a large palo verde tree.

“I like your hair and your nose ring,” Sam said and Cas saw no trace of insincerity in his expression.

“Thank you. Last night, Meg did the ends of my hair to match my motorcycle leathers.”

“And you put the nose ring in after your dad was here?”

Cas laughed, brittle and cold. “Yeah. I took it out for awhile because it was getting irritated by all the sweat, sawdust, paint, and whatnot from the shop renovations. But Dad reminded me why I had it in the first place.”

“Dean says he’s an asshole.”

“Dean is much too kind.” They both snickered, a shared knowing of asshole fathers and unmet expectations, and just general bullshit around being the youngest son. It’s always so much irony in that when you’re the youngest boy, no one ever sees you for yourself. They see you for who they want you to be and then make up some narrative of disappointment around how the made up version of you doesn’t meet the artificial expectations of you. Because they want a reason to coddle you, to hover, to alienate, and to blame. You can’t win coming or going.

Being the youngest son is like living in a parallel universe to the rest of the family.

Cas snorted and raised his coffee cup in toast.

“I said that last part about parallel universes aloud, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Cas agreed. “I suppose this is the part where I say I have no intention of replacing you with Dean, and I’m sorry that I haven’t done a better job of being family.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, “you’ve kind of sucked.”

Cas chewed his lower lip, “I’ve been a dick to you.”

Sam chuckled with a tinge of bitterness, “yeah, you have kind of made me feel like the geek in school no one wants to be friends with. Which would have been fine. Like, whatever, we don’t have to be friends, we can just be business neighbors. But then, we can’t, because you’re fucking my brother.”

Cas raised his eyes to the courtyard tree limbs, he was obviously thinking carefully about his choice of words, “I am in love with him,” he paused, still considering, “I fell hard and fast. And for a little bit, that made me oblivious to anything and anyone that wasn’t solely about wanting him.”

“I think you must be rubbing off on Dean because he’s started talking about wanting a few things for himself too.”

Cas’ mouth drew to a thin line. Then looked into his cup and then he raised his eyes to meet Sam’s, “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Sam, but it’s not so much that I’m rubbing off on Dean, it’s that I’m better than he is at allowing myself feelings and desires of my own. Of wanting things just for myself. And at asking for them. The specificity leaves space that Dean can fill with his own wants and needs.”

Sam felt the sting of truth there.

“Huh. That’s an incredibly polite way of calling me co-dependent,” Sam said a small smile flickering over his mouth.

“I have an older sister who adores me, even if she has recently disappointed me” was Cas’ reply. “I know how easy it is to accept all that is offered.”

They sat in silence a moment.

Sam asked, “so, you and me? You see any other ways we’re alike?”

Cas shifted his head side to side, birdlike, thinking, “I like hibiscus tea too.”

“Yeah?” Sam smiled, “so does Dean.”

Fiddling with the lip of his plastic cup, “I get you, you know.” Sam continued, his voice just above a whisper. He put a little more strength into it an added, “they rejected you, made you feel isolated. So you built your own family with your coffee nerds, you molded a stilted and oppressed life into one that was a comfortable fit for yourself, and then you squared your shoulders against all comers. Like, I get that.”

Cas looked up in surprise. This wasn’t going in the direction he thought it would be headed now. That they’d shake hands and agree to try to be friends, and then just move the fuck on beyond the recent past. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but a gesture from Sam, a kind of Jedi wave, caused him to close his mouth and keep listening.

“You’re so zeroed in on what’s happening to you right now that, you don’t see it, do you?” Sam just stared at Cas, waiting.

Oh. It was Cas’ turn to speak. Puzzled, he asked, “you’re saying I don’t see how similar Dean and I are?”

“No, Coffee Cat. You and Dean are incredibly compatible personalities. I couldn’t have picked a better partner for him if I’d ordered you up out of a catalog. You’re complimentary, but you’re not the same. I’m saying how similar you and I are.”

Cas cocked his head again. How to untangle that praise and criticism? And what did he really know about Sam? Cas took a quick inventory: educated, smart, family-oriented, a homebody, hard-working, ambitious, ok, those things. But Dean had some of those too. And …

But Sam was speaking again, “you know, I heard you whispering the Gladiator’s Oath.”

“What?”

“To die by the sword. I heard you.”

“Oh. It’s from a book I had as a child.”

“OK. But it’s also how you tooled up for the fight when Dean was hurt. You do it because you know you’re a fuck up. You do it because you think you’re alone. You’re used to being a lone fuckup. You fight alone, you die alone. … And I get that.” Sam drew a deep breath and rushed out the next words, “my dad hated me too.”

“What?” Cas was processing this latest non sequitur.

“Dean is the good son. I’m the black sheep.”

Cas hesitated then spoke, “really? I would have thought -- “

“You would have thought because he sleeps with anyone he’s attracted to, gender less-than-relevant, that would have bothered our dad?”

“Well, it certainly bothered mine,” Cas huffed.

“Nah. Dean, well, he’s like what you get when you take the best of our mom and stir in the same interests and hobbies dad had. His presence doesn’t threaten anything mom and dad value. Mine does. Or it did”

Cas breathed in through his nose and exhaled, shoulders tight, “Sam, I want to apologize.”

“No. You don’t get to do that. This isn’t that.” Sam turned his full gaze on Cas.

That tightness in Cas’ chest curled further in on itself. He looked down at his hands wrapped around the warm paper cup. Sam wasn’t about easy gestures. Of course he wasn't. Why would he be? He was Dean’s little brother, Dean had practically raised him, and Dean felt everything deeply. Sam wasn’t going to accept walking the shallows here. Cas fell silent and waited.

Sam set his tea down on the little iron table between them, “he keeps you all to himself.”

Cas’ froze, puzzled, “who now?”

Sam huffed out a bitter laugh at this and continued, “Dean. Dean keeps you all to himself. And you let him. You hole up with him at your place, and you set about building your own little world with your inside jokes and your fuck everyone else.”

“You could have called us on it at any time,” Cas mumbled.

“But, I wouldn’t, would I? Because it wouldn’t matter. I’m social. I like people. But begging to be accepted isn’t my thing. I don’t need it.” Sam lifted his chin.

“You’re right. No one does. As my father’s visit has recently reminded me.”

“Did he really try to buy my brother?”

“Dean told you that?”

“No. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Dean about it yet. It’s just going around. You all weren’t exactly quiet.”

“My father and sister are worried about Dean’s stellar career and what will happen with a fuckup like me on his arm.”

Sam turned so quickly his neck popped. “How does that even make sense? He wants Dean to break up with you so that he can continue to be a rising star in the cops, and he wants to pay Dean for the privilege? That’s supposed to be what, altruism? Because it’s more like hubris ... coming for my brother like that takes some serious ego.”

“Hubris. You called that one. But we’re talking about you and me and how I made you, his best friend, a joke character in this romantic comedy I’ve ginned up for myself.”

“Nah,” Sam said taking the last pull from his iced tea, “we’re done talking about that. Now we’re talking about how you, me and Jess, together, are going to get Dean through what Jess says is going to be a rough recovery.”

“Shit. I have all these plans and arrangements, and I haven’t even asked you about any of them.”

“Eh, how about you, me, Jess and Dean have some food brought up to Dean’s room and talk some of these plans out? I’ll call my shop to have them make some stuff up.”

“Perfect. I’ll ask Adam to pick it up. He can grab some wine from the convenience store on his way back.”

“If you don’t think he’ll mind. I kind of want this conversation to just be the four of us. I feel like Adam’s criminal case shouldn’t be on Dean’s mind when we work through this.”

“We can try that. But I’d suggest you repeat loudly a few times that you’re handling the legal stuff and keeping the rest of us out of it. Because I know he’s really worried.”

“Great. I’ll call my shop. You call Adam. And then let’s get back up there and stare at Dean until he wakes up.”


	42. Soup and Enmity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when things are looking up ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is rougher than I wanted. It could use another good edit and some more showing rather than telling. But I feel like the best way to fight the writers block and imposter syndrome is to just keep moving so it cant catch me.

Oh, the best laid plans. Sam had called his shop and ordered food for four - Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jess. Then Adam, at Bobby’s instruction, had called back and added orders for Adam, Bobby, Meg, Charlie and Jo. When Sam made to protest that he and Cas were trying to keep from overwhelming Dean, Bobby just shook his head and replied, “we’re all in this together, idjits.”

There wasn’t enough space in Dean’s room for everyone, so Cas got permission to wheelchair Dean into the room with the cot the police were using. They had to assure the nurses they would be quiet and keep from upsetting or over-stimulating Dean. Sam and Cas both crossed their fingers behind their backs while they made promises to keep everyone in check.

Dean, for his part, was happy to have everyone together. But he wasn’t too happy to discover that he got butternut squash soup for dinner because Sam had decided the inside of his mouth was still too cut up for his favorite meatball on toasted french bread sandwich.

“Dude!” Dean whined.

“It’s good!” Sam protested, “and the coconut milk and sweet curry will help with your immune system!” 

Dean scoffed and pouted.

Jess, all slinky and seductive, offered to spoon feed Dean the soup to make him feel better, but Cas put his hands on his hip and flounced, “that’s my boyfriend! If anyone is putting anything in his mouth, it’s me!” 

“Ha!” Jess cackled and Sam called “gross!”

Cas grabbed for the spoon, but Jess slipped by him and scampered to the other side of the room. Oh, it was on!

And then Jess and Cas were dodging around everyone, grabbing at each other, and then engaged in a wrestling match for the spoon. They were all laughing when Jess finally yanked the spoon free from Cas’ grasp and wielded it at him with an, “I will cut you, bitch!”

“Children! Children!” Bobby shouted to be heard over the din. “We’re in a hospital, not a barn!”

Cas raised both hands and both eyebrows in surrender. Dean’s ribs hurt so fucking much from laughing but it was worth it to have his loved ones together. “Jess…” Sam chided. And she stuck her bottom lip out as she passed the spoon to Cas. “Fine!” she told the room, “but I get to fluff his pillows and settle him back into bed!”

Sam rolled his eyes as Cas agreed, and Jess and Cas shook on it. 

A folding table was laid with all the rest of the food and Charlie cracked open the wine and started pouring it into Solo cups sing-songing about the good red cup memories from college. 

“What’s this?” Dean asked raising one suspicious eyebrow as Sam set out little 4oz plastic cups and started pouring a thick, yellow liquid into them from a Swell bottle. 

“Turmeric shots, helps with inflammation.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, “what’s in ‘em?”

“Um, puree of watermelon, turmeric, black pepper, ginger, lemon, and chia seeds.”

“What!? Why!? Aren’t I suffering enough, Sam!?”

“That’s why I’m pouring out so many. We’ll all drink them together so you won’t be in it alone. Besides, they’re good. Kind of zippy and bracing.”

Bobby looked into his little cup, sniffed it, and then shrugged. He raised his cup, and they all followed in kind, “to family!”

Sam chortled at the grimaces on their faces. “Zippy my ass,” Bobby grumbled.

***

While they were all digging into their food, Cas brought everyone up to date on Dean’s condition. He was bouncing back. The infection in his lungs was on the run, his surgeries were successful, stitches were doing their job, and assorted lab tests were edging closer to normal. He’d be out of here in another couple of days, and then he’d start physical therapy at home. The respiratory therapy had already begun. The doctors didn’t want Dean back at work until the shoulder completely healed, and Bobby was going to insist on the standard psychological evaluation, that meant at least two months before Dean was back at work on desk duty. So, even talking about work right now was out of the question.

Rather, the first question was where Dean would be staying as soon as he was home from the hospital since he wasn’t in any condition yet to be left alone. 

Cas pointed out he’d been preparing his loft for Dean, while Jess reminded Dean that he always had a room at her house and there were no stairs or elevators at her place. Bobby said Ellen wanted them all to know that she was staying home with Livvie and Max, and so she’d be perfectly happy to help Dean if he chose to stay at the Singers’ for a bit. It would be like having him home again.

They all had good points, really, but Dean wanted to go home to his cat and the bed at Cas’. He wanted to meet the new kitten and lie in the sun on the patio with her. And Cas still had a few weeks before his semester started. Nurse Joy would be stopping in every couple of days but Dean resisted Cas approaching his doctors about making house calls. Jess thought it was a good idea and thought they should at least talk about it. But Dean refused.

No, he would come in for his appointments like a regular person. He wasn't budging on that. But he did agree, with a little puppy eyes from Jess, to allow her to consult with his doctors and she could act as a sort of coordinator for his care, “just keeping everyone on the same page, Dean.”

Dean felt like that might just be like having everyone up in his business, but Sam had argued that Dean needed help, and having one source of information on what Dean did and didn't need and what he was and wasn’t up for would be useful for everyone. Dean choked down his soup and tried to look grateful. 

The biggest point of contention turned out to be over the scheduling. Everyone seemed to think it would be a great idea that they drop in any time they were available because Cas’ loft was so conveniently located close to everyone’s job. It was near the police department, GfM, ASU Downtown, Sammiches, and Jess’ hospital. They were all delighted with the convenience. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“What if we drop by until 7PM?” Jo asked. 

“That’s kind of late…” Jess gently argued.

“But I don’t get off work until 5, or later now that I don’t have my badass partner who magicks our paperwork through the PD computer systems.”

Dean loved them all, but the idea of people in and out of their place at all hours made his skin crawl. He squeezed Cas’ hand and made pleading eyes at his boyfriend, then looked to his family, “I really love you guys, but more privacy would be appreciated. I’m stuck in this revolving door of a hospital room, and I haven’t had any space to myself since I got clocked by Roman’s men.”

“No one is trying to cockblock you, Dean.” Jo harrumphed at Dean’s resistance to drop ins. 

“I’m not talking about you kids’ sex lives again!” Bobby objected.

“I want to talk about Dean’s sex life,” Meg laughed and raised her hand. Jo raised hers in solidarity. “See, it’s two to one.”

Adam laughed and also raised his hand. “Three to one.” Charlie’s hand shot up.

Sam eyed them all, sparkling hazel through floppy bangs. This was hilarious.

Cas raised his hands in the universal ‘stop’ signal, “You all don’t need to worry about that, Dean is in no condition for sex right now anyway.”

“Hey!” Dean objected. “I’m right fucking here!”

Jo cackled, “apparently you’re not fucking anywhere … “

Jess coughed into her hand and wrangled the conversation back on track. “The more likely thing, I think, would be that Dean would have his PT appointments in the mornings, then need to rest up after lunch. What if we all agree we’ll text Cas and make sure it’s ok that we come by, and then try to confine our visits to between 2PM and 6PM?”

Cas whispered something in Dean’s ear and Dean nodded saying aloud, “that sounds good, guys.”

The pervert squad lowered their hands and made fake pouty faces at each other.

“So, I think we’ve got this mostly worked out. We’ll just need to keep talking to each other and give each other some grace if there are any miscommunications,” Jess looked pointedly at each person around the table.

“Can we talk about what you’re all going to do about Roman?” Dean interjected.

Bobby blinked. No one had told him? He looked pointedly at Jo, who shrugged and looked to Cas. Who glared and looked at Meg. Who bumped Adam’s shoulder. Who raised his hand and pointed back at Jo.

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean voice sounded taut. Sitting up was wearing him out and as happy as he was to be here, alive, and with his people, the pain and fatigue were catching up to him. And these asshats weren’t the Stooges or anything. They weren’t that fucking funny.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby dropped the news on Dean, “Roman is dead, son.” He stated the facts without inflection. “We got the 9-1-1 call from a housekeeper mid-afternoon yesterday.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!?” Dean snapped. He was serious this time, strain and pain visible on his face.

“I thought your partner would have!” Bobby snapped back looking at Jo who looked back at Bobby without flinching.

“I thought our CO would want to handle that since I’m off the case, I haven’t left this hospital since Dean was brought in, I only know rumors anyway, and oh yeah, that’s right, I’ve been benched while I wait here all docile-like in case someone wants to arrest my ass!” Jo’s face was pale and rigid, her jaw set as she set her eyes on Dean’s. 

“I love you,” Dean mouthed to her. Her eyes watered and she rubbed away the damp from her cheeks with her fists. Adam slipped an arm around her waist. Meg continued to look at her quinoa salad while Cas took Dean’s hand and tried to not tear up. Roman was dead. It was over. Except what would happen to Adam now. Cas didn’t bring it up. He’d wait for Dean to mention it. 

“How did he die?” Dean choked out, dizzy from the rushing in his ears and the narrowing walls.

Bobby sniffed and then cleared his throat. “Looks like some kind of poison. Caused him to suffocate.”

Everyone was talking at once and Dean thought he was going to pass out. Acid rose in his throat burning everything in rage and bile. 

MK darted into the room, “Bobby!” she shouted over the arguments at the table. Two nurses were hot on her heels telling everyone that they needed to quiet down. Dean felt the room begin to spin. “BOBBY!” MK shouted again. The room grew quiet.

“The deputy chief is on her way up!” MK shifted from foot to foot.

“Let’s get her another chair for the table,” Sam said standing to grab another chair.

“I don’t think she’s here to eat,” MK rushed out, “she’s got about a dozen uniforms and detectives with her.” 

“What?” Bobby asked rising with Sam.

Four detectives Bobby didn’t recognize walked into the room with Deputy Chief Richardson on their heels. Several uniformed officers remained in the hall. 

“I apologize for the disruption, Detective Winchester,” DC Richardson said, voice flat, “but I need all of your cooperation. Jo Harvelle, Meg Masters, Adam Singer and Jessica Moore, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. We ask you to cooperate with the uniformed officers, who will read you your rights and transport you to the station for booking.”

“What the fuck is going on!?” Bobby shouted.

Everyone was talking at once again. Charlie began recording a video with her phone.

Meg stood and stepped back from the table keeping her hands visible. Adam followed her lead, raising his hands and stepping back from the table as well.

But Sam wasn’t having it. “Jess is a doctor! She saved Dean’s life! You’re not arresting her!”

“Mr Winchester, please stay where you are,” one of the detectives said moving his right hand to rest at the holster on his hip.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Sam threw up his hands. “No one here is a threat to you!”

“Sam,” Jess called over the shouting as she moved over to stand with Adam and Meg, “it’s fine. I’ll go with them and then you can come get me.” 

“I’m their lawyer!” Sam shouted again, “do not ask them anything. Do not even speak to them. I’ll follow you down to your offices!”

“Mr Winchester,” DC Richardson began again, and that’s when Dean had had enough.

He stood up abruptly and shouted, “don’t touch them! Don’t you fucking touch them!” And then the pain roared through his body, and the darkness swallowed him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the cliffhanger! Don't hate me? <3


	43. The Quiet Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean out of commission, and everything going to hell, Sam steps in. And I think the cops are going to regret they stirred that particular brother. Because Sam, Cas, and their criminal lawyer are going to make them.
> 
>  
> 
> Point of view changes several times in this chapter. I’ve included *** breaks to signal when I’m switching POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very lightly edited chapter as I try to keep my momentum going. I'm super busy with work this coming week, so it might be another week before you get the next update.

Bobby hadn’t lost a step with middle-age, and he was kneeling on the floor at Dean’s side before anyone else even knew something was happening. But Bobby’s suddenly movement kicked everyone else into motion too -- Dean was a heap of limbs on the floor in front of his wheelchair.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, taking the steps around the table and dropping to his knees next to Bobby, who was patting Dean’s face lightly with one hand while his other hand was checking Dean’s pulse in his wrist.

The Deputy Chief pulled her people back up against the far wall to give the nurse some space. Meg and Adam took two steps back, but Jess was on the floor with Dean, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his lungs fill. The nurse keyed the two-way in her hand and called for more help, then she was shoving the wheelchair back and crouching beside Dean’s head next to Jess. 

“I think he’s just unconscious,” Jess huffed. “Help me stretch him out.”

Sam maneuvered Dean’s legs out from beneath his body where he’d fallen in a crumpled pile. As Sam straightened Dean’s legs, he noticed the blood seeping through the leg of the basketball shorts Dean had been wearing and more seeping through his tee over his stomach. He’d had plenty of stitches from a variety of small wounds, and it looked like he’d pulled some out when he collapsed. 

Jess caught him looking, “it’s OK, Sam. Those are mostly superficial. We’ll fix them.” She patted her husband’s arm absently.

“What’s wrong with him, Jess?” 

“I’m guessing his blood pressure spiked when they,” she jerked her head at Anita and her people, “stormed in here, and then it dropped too rapidly when he stood up so quickly.”

“So, he fainted.”

“No, this is Dean we’re talking about. He didn't faint. He passed out in a manly fashion.” Jess’ smile and humor were the only things holding Sam together in that moment because seriously, this shit with Dean had to stop. Every day, Sam was holding his breath waiting for Dean to make that dramatic recovery that would tell Sam everything was going to be ok. This incremental somewhat, maybe, getting there, possibly tomorrow shit was making Sam crazy.

A few more people in hospital coats and scrubs rushed in, and Jess and Sam stepped back to let them work. 

***

Cas, for his part, stood quietly just behind Sam, breathing deeply and counting slowly. 

Intellectually, he knew Dean was fine, and that this physical fragility was the reason the nurses and doctors wanted Dean to avoid stress. But emotionally, this shit was hard. He counted. And he kept counting, until he felt a brush against his hip that was Meg, along with a low whisper, “call Crowley.” He nodded once, never looking at her, and she slipped back again to stand with Adam. 

Low murmurs, and interminable moments passed, and then Dean was stirring. He was coming around. 

Cas let out a breath he’d been holding and squeezed his hand into a fist to stop if from shaking.

“Alright, alright, detective Winchester, let’s take it slowly, shall we?” One of the resident physicians cheered him though it, “one, two, up we go!” Together they got Dean up and back into the wheelchair. “Cas?” Dean asked, voice all cobwebs and fatigue.

Cas stepped forward, took Dean’s hand, and squeezed it.

“We’re going to take the detective back to his room and check him out. Then you can come see him,” the resident told Cas. And then they wheeled Dean away.

The words snapped Cas back to reality, and he blinked. Then he grabbed Sam’s arm and hissed low in Sam’s ear, “what’s going on?”

***

“I’m not sure, Cas,” then Sam raised his voice, “but it seems highly irregular to storm in on the family of a very sick cop, and threaten them with arrest, and in front of that cop to boot. Much less, causing that cop to have a medical episode …” Sam’s voice boomed and his eyes were sharp and steely.

The detectives were looking wary again, and Anita Richardson’s mouth was drawn into a thin line of frustration. 

“Mr Winchester!” one of the detective set his jaw and stepped forward, handcuffs in his right hand, left hand extended in front like Sam was a skittery animal.

Sam ignored him, pushing Jess into Cas’ arms and shoving Adam behind the three of them. Meg smirked and slid in alongside Adam. 

“Mr Winchester, I respectfully ask for your cooperation!” the detective snapped.

“I don’t think so,” Sam snapped back. “You barge in here and Dean goes down again. And I promise you that does not make me happy. Like, my brother hasn’t had enough pain. So, yeah, this is as much cooperation as you’re getting from us.” Sam looked around and then waved Jo behind him too. She complied. Charlie still off to one side, still recording.

“Mr Winchester, If you don’t step back and quiet down, we will arrest you for interfering …”

Sam scoffed and interrupted with, “Go for it! I’d like to see you try and make that stick. We’re in a fucking hospital for gods’ sake.”

The detective moved toward them, and Sam set his jaw and squared his shoulders.

Anita Richardson stepped forward then, jaw determined, “Stand down.” She told her detective, then turning to face their little group, voice sincere “it probably won’t, Sam, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be damned inconvenient, and you need to think of who is going to stay with Dean.”

The two groups stared each other down. More interminable moments ticked by. 

Sam huffed, “gimme a minute.” 

Then he turned around and huddled up with his family. “OK, guys, they’re going to do this. So I need you to pay attention. Until we make some more arrangements, I’m your lawyer. You may give them your names and contact info, anything that’s on your driver’s license. Otherwise, you say nothing. And I mean, nothing. Especially you two,” he pointed at Adam and Meg. “You two had tacit and formal agreements in place, and I’m going to need to figure out what happened that they’re willing to violate those agreements.” Adam opened his mouth to speak, but Sam raised his hand,

“No, Adam. Don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to know. And they don’t get to know. We don’t need to give them anything.”

“OK,” Jo said, her expression closed, her skin pale, “they’re going to ask for my badge and gun, and probably my personal guns.”

“Give them all to them,” Meg stated. “You’re clean on this. Cooperate. Save your career.” Adam nodded in agreement.

“No!” Sam barked, eyes narrowed at Meg. “I don’t know what kind of martyr-game you’ve been playing here, and for what it’s worth, I don’t want to know, but I’m running the table now. No one cooperates. We save everyone.” 

Meg crossed her arms over her chest, a barely concealed smirk played over her lips, “whatever you say, cowboy,” all low notes and smooth velvet. 

Sam met her gaze staring her down. Meg raised both her hands in supplication.

That settled, Sam turned to Jo, “yes, Meg is right that you should give them your badge and gun and accept your suspension while they investigate, but don’t voluntarily permit a search or surrender of anything in your and Cole’s house or the apartment. I’ll make sure if they want your stuff, they file the correct search warrants.”

“Sam, do you have a good criminal lawyer in mind?” Cas asked.

“I do.” Sam’s voice was clipped, “Garth Fitzgerald, he’s a friend with superior and federal court experience.”

“We need that?” Jo asked, her voice lilting up in question.

“Oh, honeybee,” Meg drawled, “we’re gonna need it all. Roman was a bad, bad man.” She patted Jo’s arm in comfort or maybe solidarity.

Everyone exchanged serious looks at that. “OK,” Sam interjected, “we’re out of time. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to be arrested. Give them only what I’ve already told you. I’m your lawyer until further notices are filed. I’m going to follow you down to the police station. Cas, if I give you the info, can you handle going down to Garth’s office and signing and retaining him?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “I’ll also want to post bail for everyone.”

“Thanks. And let’s hope it doesn’t get that far,” Sam agreed.

Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but Sam added, “Bobby can you please stay with Dean? Cas and I need to handle this stuff, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re about fifteen seconds from being told to stand down in this matter anyway.”

“Fine,” Bobby growled, frustration obvious in the stiffness of his usually easy posture. He strode past everyone in the room and stormed out the door headed for Dean’s room.

“Good. OK. Everybody good? OK, here we go.” And with that Sam turned around and nodded at the detectives. They signalled the uniforms who came forward asking questions, patting down, and putting cuffs on Jess, Jo, Adam, and Meg. Sam held eye contact with Jess until the cops walked her out of the room.

“I’ll see you at the station,” Sam called to them, again, and then he looked at Anita, “you make sure nothing happens to our family. Dean trusts you,” he reminded her.

Anita nodded once at Sam, looking none-too-happy, and gestured to MK to come with her. Then she pivoted on her heel and followed her people out.

MK threw a wide-eyed look over her shoulder at Sam and then hurried after the deputy chief. 

Charlie stopped recording, “Sam?” she asked.

Sam smiled at her with too much teeth, “thanks for doing that Charlie. They need to know we’re not going to make this easy on them.”

“I’ll head home and upload this to my home server and then back it up,” Charlie told Sam and Cas.

“Good. Stay there if you can, or go about your regular routine. See people. Be visible. We want them to know we’re not rattled.”

“OK,” Charlie agreed. “I’ll take my stuff over to the coffee shop and do some grading afterwards.”

“That’s perfect,” Sam approved.

“I’m headed to this Garth Fitzgerald’s office, and I have to make a phone call for Meg,” Cas added.

“I’ll text you Garth’s office address,” Sam said. “Cas, will you meet me at the downtown station when you’ve finished up?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure where to go once I get there.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam huffed bitterly, “just tell the desk sergeant your name and that you’re a Winchester, and you’ll get your visitor’s badge and an escort right to us.”

“OK, so I retain Garth on behalf of everyone. Is there anything else that needs doing right now? I can talk to my money manager about collateral for the court…”

“Put the money person on notice, maybe, but there’s nothing we can do until after they’re booked. They could be questioned and then released, or they could be taken before the court and charged. They could meet with a prosecutor and have a conversation and cut a deal. I just don’t know which it’s going to be right now. But I know it’s going to be fine.”

“How do you know?” Charlie asked, voice scared and tired.

“Because. We’re Winchesters. And didn’t Dean already tell you this? You don’t fuck with the House of Winchester.” Sam’s expression was all fang and claw.

***

Cas got out of the Lyft in front of the converted bungalow with the tasteful “Garth Fitzgerald IV and Associates,” sign hung from the ornate wrought iron post next to the stone walkway leading up to the front door. The pretty little bungalow was red brick, with spanish tiles on the roof and glossy white trim. The front door was painted bright red. It looked like something out of a 1950s sitcom, not necessarily the office of a high powered criminal lawyer.

It was … charming.

Cas crossed the stone walk and let himself in the front door. He entered into a traditional sitting room with a fireplace and conversational chairs and sofas, and a secretary’s desk with a young man sitting behind it. The young man looked up from his laptop, “may I help you?”

“I’m Castiel Novak, here to see Mr. Fitzgerald on behalf of Sam Winchester. I believe Sam called ahead.”

“Yes, Garth is expecting you, you can go on back. Last door at the end of the hall.”

Each of the four bedrooms had been converted to an office, and each office was occupied with a person in their 30s talking quietly on the phone or typing on a keyboard. Garth’s office was in what Cas thought must have been the master bedroom. 

From his position in the hallway, Cas could see an office painted a soft yellow with white trim on the windows, baseboards and doors. There were white bookcases along one wall and the other wall was windows from floor to ceiling. A low bench ran along the windows, and it was covered in pots full of house plants, including several aggressively viney pothos plants. A light blonde golden retriever slept in a pool of sunshine on an area rug beneath the windows.

The office was casually furnished with just a desk with two leather club chairs facing it. There was very little clutter, no paperwork or files in piles, no sign of disorder, no distractions. Cas revised his assessment from charming to professional.

He knocked on the doorframe, and then entered when the man behind the desk looked up at him.

Garth rose to greet Cas. He was tall, as tall as Castiel, but much more reedy. He looked young, with a school boy’s haircut and a wide open, friendly facial expression. 

“Howdy,” Garth said all copper-penny-bright, “I’m Garth.” He stretched his hand forward. Cas took his hand and shook it, “I’m Castiel Novak. I’m here to retain you to represent Sam WInchester’s wife, Jessica Moore, as well as several other people.”

“Well, come in, Mr Novak, and take a seat. Tell me, how is the beautiful Jess?”

“She’s been arrested,” Cas said in clipped tones as he sat forward in the comfortable club chair and stared at his hands. “She’s been arrested on suspicion of murder, along with our friends, Meg and Adam, and Dean’s partner, detective Jo Harvelle. … And, I’d like you to be my lawyer too. In hindsight, I suspect I may have need of one as well.”

Garth stared at Cas a moment, then walked over to the door and called down the hall, “Colin, please clear my schedule this afternoon. And hold my calls. Thank you.” And then he closed the door and folded his lanky frame into the club chair next to Cas, “I think you’d best start at the beginning, Mr Novak.”

“Call me, Cas.”

“OK, Cas,” Garth stretched out one long arm and tugged a laptop over to the edge of the desk and then opened it and clicked the mouse a few times until some forms were in the word processing window. “Is this all to do with Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, you know about that?”

“I’ve been following the story: hate crimes, kidnappings, cartel assassinations, romance, this story has it all,” Garth rambled with enthusiasm.

“Yes, it’s certainly chock full of something,” Cas quipped and then pulled himself up short. Sam trusted this man. Cas would trust him too: “You know Dean?”

“I’ve known the Winchesters awhile, but I’m afraid I don’t know you yet.”

“I’m Dean Winchester’s boyfriend.”

“Well, well, Dean decided to settle down, did he? It’s about time. And you look like a nice fellow.”

“Mr Fitzgerald,” Cas began again.

“You call me Garth since I’m your lawyer. Let’s get some basic information from you for the paperwork, and then you can tell me the entire story. How about that?”


	44. My Kingdom for a Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That moment just as the pot comes to a boil, or just as the object takes shape beneath the potter's hands OR the moment when the significant and the insignificant are on on the tipping point and just about to switch places ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this has only the barest of editing. I may come back to it or I may not. Just sorry in advance for the shoddy writing, while I try to keep the writer's block in check.

Dean was desperate for information.

Yeah, he’d popped some stitches, and there were going to be some new bruises on top of the old bruises, and sure, it felt like he was breathing fire with the pain in his ribs. But what else was new? It certainly wasn’t important, I mean, fainting, whatever, so he’d learn to stand up more slowly, fine. WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?

Because he was the cops, and the cops were him. And they were on his side. So why were they arresting his family? Once he’d cleared the fuzzies out of his head, he’d wanted to know what the hell was going on, right the hell now. And he’d been pretty damned noisy about it.

The nurses and docs hadn’t been very helpful as they checked him out and patched him back up, warning him that he couldn’t get excited. Were they fucking kidding? Excited? Fuck that. Did they not hear the part where Roman was dead and cops were arresting his family and everything was fucked!?

Bobby walked into the room, took one look at the situation, and commanded, “take it easy, kid.”

He eyed the medical staff who gave Dean one more warning to take it slow, and then they filed out of the room.

“Bobby, what’s happening?” Dean wheezed, still short of breath.

Bobby sighed and eased himself down into the chair next to Dean’s bed. “The deputy chief has taken Jo, Meg, Adam, and Jess into custody on suspicion of murder. She didn’t say whose, and I didn’t ask.”

“Well, why the hell not!?” Dean shouted.

“Take a deep breath, and lower your voice, or I won’t be able to tell you anything,” Bobby drawled, voice gruff and stern.

Dean took another deep breath, “what about Cas and Sam? Where are they?”

“OK, look, I’m going to tell you everything I know and then you can ask questions. Alright?”

Dean nodded. It hurt his head, and it made him want to choke the nearest not-Bobby person, but yeah, he could be quiet for a minute.

“I didn’t ask whose murder it was because I didn’t need to give Anita reason to notice me, or to suspend me or bench me or basically say anything to me. I’ll hear the details soon enough, right now, my access to the building and my proximity to the investigation is the only information channel we’ve got.”

Dean swallowed back the nausea and nodded again. He was dizzy, and he wanted to throw up.

“Sam is headed down to the station to keep an eye on everything and make sure they have a lawyer on hand, while Cas has gone out to hire Garth Fitzgerald to represent them.”

“Garth?” A little bit of the tightness eased in Dean’s throat. Having Garth on the team was good if Garth had the time. He was a busy guy, lots of demand for his services.

“Yeah, Garth. Cas is going to get Garth on board, and then Garth is going to go over there and straighten this whole mess out.”

Gingerly, Dean sat up, shifted in his bed and put both his feet on the floor.

“Hey, where you going?” Bobby asked standing to support Dean’s weight.

“We’re going over there, Bobby.”

“To the station? The hell we are?! You can’t even walk,” Bobby huffed.

Dean growled, “I’m going, man. You can help or not, but you can’t stop me.”

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Dean who glared back.

“This is a bad idea, kid,” Bobby shook his head. “You need to relax and let this play out. Let me call Ellen to bring the little kids over and you can read them stories or some shit for a couple of hours, let ‘em distract you, until we get more information.”

“No.”

“No?” That raised Bobby’s eyebrows, ha! Dean knew he was walking a fine line between family bonds and professional ones, Bobby was still his CO. But he had to know. He had to see. He’d been held captive by with Roman’s goons, and he hadn’t known how anyone in his family was, and that was the hardest of all. It was one thing if they’d taken Dean, but what if they had Sam? Or Adam? And they’d sent those pics to Cas, which was a relief of its own kind because at least he knew if Cas was getting snaps, then Cas wasn’t also captured. Information, he’d painfully learned, was comforting, and now Dean had to have it. Had to. So, yeah, if something was happening to them now, he needed to see it through.

“I gotta be with them.” Dean’s voice was small, almost childlike, “please.”

They watched each other for a long moment, Dean unsure what Bobby could read from his expression.

And finally. “Well,” Bobby huffed leaning over and pulling a pair of sneakers from the duffel beneath the bed, “if we’re gonna go, you’re gonna need shoes. And clothes, I think. You don’t have anything not covered in blood in here.”

“Fine.” Dean told him. “We’ll make a stop at the loft. You’ll help me.”

“I will?” Bobby asked voice laced with both amusement and caution.

“You will. Or I won’t make the Christmas pies.”

“Well, come on, boy, what are you waiting for. Let’s call a nurse and get you discharged against medical advice.”

 

***

“Your story has a lot of holes, Cas,” Garth told him, looking over the typed notes he’d taken. “A lot of holes.”

“As I said, I don’t know everything,” Cas admitted again. “You said to tell you what I knew first hand and not to speculate or guess. This is all I know for certain.” His shoulders slumped. Once he started talking to Garth, the story had flowed like water, but now that he was finished, he felt oddly empty.

“OK, I’m going to summarize how I understand it, and correct me if I’m wrong, OK?” horizontal wrinkles of concentration creased Garth’s forehead. Cas nodded his go ahead.

“So, Meg Masters, your sort-of-ex lover, is some kind of former intelligence operative who now works private security. She gets contracted to protect and assist Dick Roman through this gentleman’s company, one Fergus Crowley. Dick Roman also employs local people, including, coincidentally, Dean and Sam’s foster brother, Adam. You, Meg, and Dean go to a nightclub and flaunt your beautiful selves in person so Dean can get a read on Roman. At the same time, Dean signs Meg on as a confidential informant. … how am I doing so far?”

Cas cocked one eyebrow, it sounded implausible even to his ear, but he nodded, “yes, that’s right so far.”

“OK, then some hate crimes are going on around town, and your lieutenant and sort-of-foster father and Adam’s actual-foster-father, Bobby Singer, realizes Adam is the doer because of some clues, including,” Garth paused to double-check his notes, “a roll of double-sided tape?”

Cas nodded.

Garth continued, “after talking with Meg, Dean makes the connection that Adam works for Roman and according to Meg’s information, Adam is in trouble. So, Dean and Meg stage a little show to extract Adam. Then, Dean lines up a possible deal for Adam.” Garth looked up and Castiel nodded again.

“OK, um, the timeline gets a little messier here, um... Meg gets kidnapped, then she rescues herself, violently," Garth looks up at Cas at that and Cas nods remembering Meg showing up on his doorstep bloodied and raw. "And then Dean follows a lead at the hospital and gets himself kidnapped because Roman wants to ransom Dean for Meg and Adam. Then Dean is rescued by Jo, Adam, Meg, and someone named Cole, who is new to the story. And Jess goes along to patch Dean up. Which was a good thing because Dean was near-death. And then, while everyone is loitering around the hospital waiting on Dean’s recovery, Roman gets himself killed. Is that about it?”

Garth looked up, guileless through the bangs hanging in his eyes, and waited for Cas to agree.

Cas thought it through, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a decent summary of events as Cas knew them. He exhaled, “yes, that’s about it. As far as I know.”

“Well, that’s a hell of a story, isn’t it?” Garth chuckled, oddly pleased with himself.

Cas wasn’t sure he was supposed to answer as Garth scrolled through his notes, editing here and there.

“I mean, one hell of a story. That’s some made for tv movie stuff right there.” Garth prodded at his screen with his index finger to emphasize his point.

“Err, I don’t think so?” Cas floundered not sure what he was supposed to say here.

But Garth continued. “OK, so a few questions for ya’. The newspapers said people were killed when Dean was rescued, did your people do that?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there” Cas answered, tone flat, although his stomach was roiling.

Garth nodded, “that’s a good answer. OK, do you know anything about the planning?”

Cas hesitated. He only knew Meg had been on the phone and he wasn’t sure if he should implicate Charlie. Garth watched Cas’ face, and both of his eyebrows climbed toward his scalp. “You’ve got to tell me the truth, Cas. I won’t tell anyone, but you’ve got to tell me everything.”

Cas drew a breath in through his nose and blew it out his mouth. Then another. “OK, well, when Meg heard Dean was missing, she enlisted our mutual friend Charlie to help her do internet searches and make phone calls. I don’t know anything about what they were doing. I was getting drunk.” If he’d been less grief stricken and more sober, he might have been able to help with the planning to get Dean back. Cas hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on that, and he turned it over in his head, over and over, but it was still too new and it wouldn’t stick. No doubt he’d have many nights in the future to lie awake and second guess himself.

Garth nodded and typed a few more notes. “Right. That’s because someone was sending Meg images from Snapchat of Dean being tortured?” Cas flinched at the memory but nodded. Garth clucked in sympathy but kept going, “and Charlie is some kind of computer genius?”

Cas snickered, “you could say that. Other people might call her a hacker.”

“But do you?”

“No, I call her my best friend on earth.”

Garth smiled at that. “That’s good. Stay with that. Oh, and, um, do you know who killed Roman?”

Hmm. Did he? He’d suspected Meg but she hadn’t outright said she’d done it. She’d just shown up in the hospital room, small and tired. She’d snuggled Dean a little then curled up in Cas’ arms. They didn’t ask any questions. Which in hindsight was really something. Why didn’t they ask her where she’d been? “No,” Cas’ tone was again flat, but he cleared his throat, “do you think I could get some water?”

Garth pointed to a small, glass-fronted refrigerator in a corner, that was filled with bottles of water. Cas got himself one and returned to his chair.

“You have any idea whose murder they’re accused of?”

That one took Cas by surprise. “You know, I really don’t.”

“Okey-dokey, then. That just leaves us a couple more quick things to do, and then we can go see about getting your friends and family home.”

***

Sam got his visitor’s badge from the front desk and followed the directions Anita had left for him to go on up to the 8th floor. The desk sergeant called ahead and he was met at the elevator by another uniform who led him to an empty conference room. “The deputy chief told me to tell you it’s going to be about two hours for them to come up, you can wait, or you can come back later if you like,” she said.

“What the hell’s taking two hours?” Sam asked, testy and prickly, which maybe wasn’t fair to the young uniform, but he didn’t want to hear it today.

“They need to be photographed, and their personal possessions need to be inventoried, then they’ll sit with an officer who will fill out their basic information on the reports, and then they’ll be asked a series of preliminary questions. After that, they’ll be brought up.”

“I’m their lawyer, and I don’t want them questioned,” Sam told her. But she just shrugged and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Instead of sitting at the table, Sam stood by the wall of windows looking out at the skyscrapers and busy sidewalks. In jeans, boots, a blue-green flannel shirt, and a leather jacket, he wasn’t really dressed for imposing, but needs must. His phone bleeped with a text from Bobby that Dean was ok. Jesus. How dare they come after Sam’s family while they were visiting with Dean. Hadn’t his brother bled enough for this place?

The uniform who had escorted him from the elevator came back into the room with a short stack of file folders in her arms. She placed the folders on the table at the seat at its head. Another uniform followed, placing a pitcher of water and a stack of plastic cups on the table. They turned and left the way they came. Sam kept staring out the windows, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that everyone was fine. Jess was as tough as they come, Jo was a respected cop, and Meg was a former soldier if he understood things right. So was Adam, oh, shit, Adam. Dean had said something about Adam being not quite right after his discharge. So much had happened, and he kept losing track of the details -- what was up with Adam? But Meg and Jo had been protective of Adam. Hopefully, the kid would be ok until Sam could arrange to get them all home.

Time passed as he thought through everything he knew and didn’t know. As far as Sam was concerned, the best case scenario was to talk the police out of whatever was happening and get the investigation shut down right now. Any other outcome was going to be a strain on his family and their careers and lives. They had to stop this at the investigation stage. No prosecutors, courts or deals. He sat down in a chair trying to create a timeline in his head. Going back, back to when he saw Dean on the news with those little kids. It seemed like forever ago.

Eventually, Deputy Chief Anita Richardson walked into the room, and she raised her hands in gesture to stop before Sam even got started speaking. “Your family is on their way up,” she told him in the calm, cool voice of a seasoned leader.

Sam nodded. “Thank you. What are you charging them with?”

“They’ll be right up. Let’s hold off the discussion until we all get here, shall we?” She took her seat at the head of the table and began flipping through the files. She made a few notes on a notepad that had been included in the stack of files. Sam stared at the doorway, willing Jess to come through it.

The first person through the door, however, was MK. She smiled weakly at Sam as she headed over to stand against the wall behind the deputy chief. Close behind her followed Adam, Meg, Jo, and then Jess, all looking none the worse for the wear. Sam embraced each one of them as they came through the door and lingered on Jess, “how are you?”

“I’m fine, babe, how’s Dean?”

“Bobby says he’s fine. That he just passed out like you said.”

“That’s great. I’m glad. Did they tell you what’s going on here?”

“No,” Sam whispered into her hair inhaling her scent of sunlight and citrus. “But we’re about to find out.”

Two detectives came in last, and Anita cleared her throat and asked everyone to take a seat as she introduced detectives Marks and Holder, two middle aged men who looked equal parts serious and rumpled, like TV detectives, Sam thought. Everyone shuffled around the table, with Sam’s little family sitting together at one end and the cops at the other. Sam held Jess’ hand.

“Will you get us started, Holder?” Anita asked as she slid reading glasses onto her nose and told the room’s recording device her name and the names of everyone else in the room, as well as the date, time, and a file number. She called it a ‘question and answer session’, which Sam thought was a bit odd but a gift he wasn’t going to question since it didn’t sound like she was charging anyone yet.

The detective called Holder, a 50-something man with salt and pepper hair and a well-defined nose, stood up. He was average height, about 5’10” and slim, and he wore jeans and a blue oxford shirt tucked in, but no tie. His sleeves were rolled up. He picked a folder from the stack on the table and passed it to Marks. Holder then spoke to the room, his cool blue eyes assessing.

“This isn’t how we normally do things,” he said in a slow baritone. Anita cleared her throat, and he continued, “but given that you share representation, we thought getting you all together would save some time.”

Meg leaned in and whispered something to Adam who nodded, but Sam didn’t catch what she said.

Holder walked over to a shelf on the wall and picked up a remote. He used it to lower a screen on the far wall. Then he brought down the lights in the room as Marks attached a computer tablet to a cable in the center of the table. The Phoenix PD logo glowed on the screen as it warmed up.

With a click of the remote, an image of two dead men, their heads partially blown away, was on the screen. “What’s this?” Sam asked, cold fury tight in his gut.

“Don’t know,” Holder responded. We’re still working to identify them. These men though,” Holder flipped through a few more gory slides of dead men sprawled over floors and furniture,” we have identified. This one,” he stopped on the slide of the man from the kitchen of the house where Dean was tortured, the one whose throat Jo had slit, “this is Kevin Barton.” Holder stopped on that slide.

Blood was pooled and coagulated on the floor around him. He was crumpled in a heap on the floor, his head tilted at an odd angle, legs bent beneath torso, and his face up to the camera, eyes unseeing.

“And who is Kevin Barton?” Sam asked, coolly.

Marks read from the file, “Kevin Barton, aged 38, born in Louisville, presently of Phoenix, two charges of felony assault, no convictions. Served time for armed robbery. A full jacket of misdemeanors. Career criminal.”

“And a dead one,” Sam added helpfully. Might as well see what game they were playing.

“Yes,” Holder agreed, turning to Sam, “he is, in fact, dead. And one of your clients here killed him.”

“Based on what evidence?” Sam asked leaning back in his chair and crossing his right ankle over his left knee.

Holder ignored Sam, continuing, “in fact between the house where Ms Masters was held and the house where Detective Winchester was held, someone dropped eighteen bodies.”

A smile flickered across Meg’s lips and was gone, but Adam and Jo looked stricken. Jess shellshocked. Sam wasn’t surprised by their response or the numbing sensation that crawled up his own spine. Something he’d had a couple of hours to come to term with that his family hadn’t realized yet. They just hadn’t slowed down yet to count the cost. There hadn’t been time. Sam schooled his expression and, “my family members are the victims in these cases,” Sam offered. “These are the men who kidnapped Meg and Dean?”

“Maybe,” Holder replied. “Although we’ll never know because there was no investigation, and there will be no trial, since, well, they’re dead.”

“So let me restate what you’ve told me so far,” Sam said, ever-the-professional in his jeans and flannel, “my brother and his friend were both kidnapped and tortured. They have medical records, I want to get that on the record here, to back that up. Coincidentally, everyone at the scenes of both kidnappings is dead, and you’re investigating with the intent to charge my family, including one of the victims, with the murder of one of those men.” Sam paused, “for which, you have no evidence. That about cover it?”

***

A phone on the conference table rang and MK stepped forward to answer it. “Yes,” she said into the phone, “I’ll tell her.” And then to the room, “Detective Winchester and Lieutenant Singer are on their way up.”

Anita glared at MK who slunk back against the wall. Sam stood up as Bobby entered the room supporting a pale and drawn looking Dean under one arm. Dean was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt and looking a little sweaty inside them. “What are you doing here!? You should be in the hospital!” Sam was making his not-happy face.

Anita rose to her feet as did all of Dean’s family. Jess moved to help Dean but Sam beat her there, easing Bobby of Dean’s burden and lowering Dean into a chair. “Jesus, Dean. You didn’t just break out of the hospital, did you? Does Cas know you’re here?” Sam asked trying to offset the worry with a little teasing.

“I thought he was running errands for you?” Dean asked, sighing heavily with a touch of wheeze as he settled into the chair. “And no, I didn’t break out. I checked myself out against medical advice. Totally different thing.”

“You’re lucky he is, or he’d kick your ass if he knew you were here AMA.” Sam retorted taking his seat next to his brother. Bobby took a seat on the other side of the table next to Meg and everyone settled in.

“And that’d be fun too,” Dean mocked himself lightly. “Speaking of fun, what kind of party are we having here, boss?” he directed to Anita. Then his eyes landed on the gory slide and he shuddered, “ew, dead guy mess.”

She frowned at him. “Detective Winchester, while I know it is in your personality to be impatient and to run in where angels fear to tread, you really should be in the hospital.”

Dean met her gaze, “all due respect, ma’am, seems like I really should be right where I am.” And he leaned over and squeezed Jess’ hand. She smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ears. Meg winked at him and Adam gave him the puppy eyes that Sam had perfected.

Anita rolled her eyes and looked to Bobby, “you’re here as a civilian, Lieutenant, you’re not to have any involvement in this investigation, is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bobby assured her.

“Now that we’re all here,” Anita began, but Sam interrupted, “excuse me, ma’am, but we’re not all here. We’re still waiting on Garth Fitzgerald, the criminal attorney who is going to be representing my family if you move forward, as well as my brother’s partner, Castiel Novak.”

Anita raised her eyebrows, “you’re not representing them after all? And you were planning on informing us of this when?”

“Eh,” Sam replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs again. Meg snickered. Dean looked his brother over, puzzled and curious.

“You think this is funny?” Anita snapped, leaning forward in her chair.

Everyone at the table froze and looked to Sam who sat forward in his chair in response, “No. In fact, I do not think this is funny.” He waved his hand toward the slide of the dead man, “I think this is bordering on obscene. And I think you’re acting in bad faith,” he gestured to his family. “And, I think if you had anything on my family, you’d have booked them and taken them before a judge instead of through this charade, whatever this is.”

“What if it is simply professional respect to Detective Winchester, to give you all a chance to tell your sides of the story before we move forward?”

“I think if you respected my brother, you wouldn’t have crashed his little hospital room celebration, and you wouldn’t have risked his health.”

“Sam …” Dean began.

The phone on the desk rang again, and Anita huffed at a second interruption. MK answered the call and it went exactly as the first, “yes, I’ll tell her.”

She hung up the phone and learned over and this time whispered her message to the deputy chief. Anita nodded and then turned to the table, tone dry, “good news, your other lawyer is on his way up.”

Sam smiled brightly.

***

Castiel and Garth were escorted into the room and introductions were made, “well, nice to meet you all,” Garth said smiling and shaking hands with the detectives and deputy chief. “I’m Garth Fitzgerald IV, please call me Garth. I’m representing Mr Novak, Mr Winchester, Mr Milligan also known as Mr Singer, Ms Masters, Ms Moore, and Ms Harvelle. Did I leave anyone out?” he asked, chipper as a camp counselor.

Anita stared at him.

“Oh! Yes, I am not representing Detective Dean Winchester. Just making that there clear.” Garth shoved both his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “OK, shall we all get settled in and then hear why you’ve organized this shindig, Deputy Chief?” Garth asked as he preemptively began rearranging the Winchesters into their seats and making room for himself and Castiel between Sam and Dean.

Meg giggled as she, Adam, Jo and Jess all stood up and milled around in circles trying to sort themselves back into their seats. The huge conference table was beginning to get crowded.

 

"Dean," Cas began, voice brimming with ill-concealed frustration. "You should not even be here!"

"Later, Cas" Dean squeezed his hand. "I promise you can yell at me later. Just hang on."

“Mr Fitzgerald--” Anita began.

“Call me Garth,” Garth interjected with a bright smile.

Anita glared and began again, “Garth, we believe your clients have information about the murders of twenty-one men…”

“Wait, twenty-one?” Sam asked, “what happened to eighteen?”

Garth turned to Sam, “there were eighteen?”

“Yeah,” Sam responded pushing his hair out of his face, “she said eighteen.”

Garth turned back to Anita, “you found three more bodies in the time it took Castiel and me to get here?”

Meg hid her mouth behind her hand.

Anita drew in a breath and exhaled slowly, “no, Garth, Sam, as I said, between the two houses where Detective Winchester and Ms Masters were held, there were eighteen bodies. Two of Roman’s suspected associates were killed in Deck Park, an Uber driver was killed, and Roman himself was murdered. Twenty-one murders.”

“OK, so eighteen, plus two more, plus one more, plus one last one is twenty-two, not twenty-one?” Garth wiggled his fingers like he was counting with them.

“No,” Anita answered tightly, beginning to let her frustration leak into her voice, we believe the Uber driver was killed by Roman’s men, we believe your clients have information on the other twenty-one murders.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Garth nodded sagely, “related murder but not same murders. So, you’re linking all twenty-two bodies to the same case?” Garth asked, pulling a laptop computer out of his messenger bag and opening it up. “Oh, uh, is the wifi password still the same?” Garth asked looking up at the faces of the detectives. Marks nodded at him, and Garth thanked him and continued typing. “Yup! I got logged right in. Perfect!”

“As I was saying,” Anita tried again, “we believe your clients have information about the murders of twenty-one men…”

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “I apologize for interrupting again, but you said one of our clients killed one man, not that they had information on twenty-one murders.”

“Oh?” Garth asked, “who did someone allegedly kill?”

“Kevin Barton, aged 38, born in Louisville, presently of Phoenix, two charges of felony assault, no convictions. Served time for armed robbery. A full jacket of misdemeanors. A dead career criminal,” Sam recited helpfully, while pointing to the body on the screen.

Anita pinched the bridge of her nose.

Garth smiled at her brightly.

“What?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“You were saying something about twenty-one men and, possibly, also someone named Kevin Barton?” Garth asked with complete sincerity.

Detective Marks snapped in half a pencil he was fiddling with.

“Whoopsie,” Garth said. Then he rummaged in his messenger bag and said, “gotcha!” while coming up with another pencil that he rolled across the table to Marks.

“Yes, Garth,” Anita continued after pausing a beat while Marks stared at the new pencil, “we are still identifying some of the eighteen bodies in the two houses where your clients were held, but we have identified Barton. And we think your clients have information about his murder.”

“And so you had them arrested? For information? Why didn’t you just ask them? I find that most of these matters can be cleared up with a few simple questions.”

“We think they have information because they are suspects,” Anita snapped back, “and that’s why we arrested them.”

“Ah, so they’re all suspects in eighteen murders?” Garth asked “A police officer, a bodyguard, a obstetrician-gynecologist, and an unemployed veteran? And you think they killed eighteen people?” Garth tilted his head to the side in puzzlement.

Anita stared back at him.

The standoff continued for a few moments.

The phone on the conference table rang again breaking their concentration, “well, I expect that’s for me,” Garth said cheerfully checking his watch.

“Oh for god’s sake!” Anita threw up her hands in outrage. "This stops now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's another chapter! I found time before everything got busy to write one more scene :D hope you enjoyed it !!


	45. Devil's Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's music and you gotta face it, but you should least do it in good humor and a nice suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing and posting with minimal editing. Not slowing down while I'm on this push to finish :)

“You should probably get that,” Sam said helpfully to Garth as the phone continued to ring.

Dean looked back and forth between Sam and Garth. His head was already hurting, and he had no idea what these two were up to. But this felt like college all over again.

“Right! I should get that,” Garth’s voice was filled with cheer, “it’s for me!”

“Neither of you will answer the phone in my conference room,” Anita snapped as MK stepped forward yet again to answer the phone. She listened a moment and then handed the phone to Anita who also listened, said “fine” into the phone and then passed it back to MK who returned the receiver to its cradle.

Anita glowered at everyone, and Dean wasn’t handling the silence well, it was making his skin crawl with anxiety, “boss?” he asked her, a little wheeze in his voice. The ever-present reminder that there was probably a good reason he should still be in bed.

Cas leaned in to whisper to Garth, “you said you knew Sam from law school?”

Garth smiled widely and whispered back, “yeppers! We were on mock trial together... And we may have hustled pool for beer money once or thrice.”

“So, you’re saying this little performance isn’t your first rodeo?”

“Nope! Ah, you must be Mr Crowley!” Garth stood and strode forward to vigorously shake hands with the man who had just entered the room. Sam rose and followed him.

Crowley was a dark-haired man in an expensive haircut and a well-tailored black suit. He entered the room accompanied by two more men in conservative grey suits and ties. Those men took up station against the wall as Crowley made his way over to shake hands with Garth and Sam.

“Hello boys,” he told them, Scottish accent rolling like good whisky. He scanned the room, his eyes settling on Meg, “and Ms Masters,” he winked. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I apologize that I was delayed, but the traffic in from the airport was brutal.”

Anita ignored his niceties and got straight to the point, “I’m Deputy Chief Anita Richardson, and I understand you’re from Homeland Security, Mr Crowley.”

“Oh not I,” Crowley scoffed. “No, these gentlemen,” he pointed to the suits behind him against the wall, “are DHS, I am but a humble independent contractor. A privateer, if you will,” he finished both palms flat on his chest. “And I believe you have a problem that I can help you solve.”

“And what problem would that be?” Anita asked him arching one eyebrow.

“If I may?” Crowley asked, gesturing toward an empty seat at the table on the far side of Sam.

Anita blew out a frustrated breath and nodded. Crowley gracefully took his seat and folded his hands on the table in front of himself. “I take it from my brief conversations with Sam and Garth here, that you find yourself in a bit of a conundrum. A quandary. A dilemma, as it were.”

Garth stood and helpfully began filling water glasses for everyone at the table. Crowley’s lips twitched, and he continued. “And, as an employer of Ms Masters and a friend of the US government, I have come to offer you my assistance with your little … dilemma.” He raised his glass of water to Anita and then took a small sip replacing the glass on the table.

“And I ask you again, sir. What problem do you think I have that you can solve?” all Anita’s words were clipped bluntly and evenly.

“Hmm.” Crowley rubbed his fingers over his chin and then drew a loud breath through his teeth, “it seems you have a score of dead bodies piled on your lawn, and in response, you have managed to take into custody the most photogenic group of upstanding citizens to ever grace your fair city,” he gestured to their small group. “Simply gorgeous.” He took another sip of water. “My, but it is dry here. Oh, yes, and more problematically so, and correct me if I’m wrong, these bodies ceased accumulating at almost exactly the same moment that a paralyzing crime spree in your city has come to an abrupt end. What a PR nightmare for you.” He folded his hands again and turned his gaze fully on her.

Anita’s lips narrowed into one thin line, “bad PR is hardly a dilemma for an urban police department.”

Crowley tilted his head toward one of the men against the wall, and he stepped forward and handed Anita a folded piece of paper. She opened it, scanned it, and her forehead wrinkled, “no,” she stated bluntly. “These murders happened in my city, and they are my jurisdiction.” She re-folded the paper and set it down on the table, folding her hands on top of it.

“I’m afraid that piece of paper says that these gentlemen are taking over the responsibility for the investigation and adjudication of all of these murders, and, frankly, anything else in your city they feel is related to Richard Roman.”

“No! These people had a deal with me! They agreed to cooperate in my case and with my prosecution. And then they turned around and killed people under my nose. Like the law means nothing here. Well, we are the law in Phoenix,” she gestured to the detectives at the table, “and we won’t let anyone game our system. No matter how photogenic,” she spat, “they are. I will hold Masters and Mulligan on second degree murder, and Harvelle and Moore on obstruction charges. Moore will lose her license and Harvelle her badge.”

Crowley contemplated his manicure for a moment, then he looked down the table and studied Meg and Adam. Adam’s brow was creased in worry, but Meg was wearing a smug little grin. He turned back to Anita, “cards on the table here, what do you have?”

She glared at him for several extended moments, until finally she turned to Holder and gestured to him to continue. His face set in a mutinous frown, he opened the folder on the table in front of him and began, “I”ll give you this in summary. We began with the fact that Ms Masters, Mr Mulligan/Singer and Detective Harvelle were all at the hospital when Ms Moore came in with Detective Winchester. Masters, Mulligan and Harvelle were wearing cheap, color coordinated workout clothes, and Moore’s shirt was torn and she was smeared with blood. We knew from the informant and cooperating witness agreements on file, that Masters and Mulligan were both in contact with Detective Winchester. Obviously, Harvelle is Winchester’s partner and Moore is his sister-in-law, so we hypothesized that all of the suspects could well know each other, as well as be in contact with each other.”

“We also hypothesized that the rescue of Winchester must have been planned by someone close to Winchester because they included his sister-in-law. We know his sister-in-law was included because according to the Emergency Room surveillance cameras, she was dropped off with him.”

“We know from the agreements on file, that Masters and Mulligan both have military training. And obviously, we have extensive records on Harvelle’s marksmanship and hand-to-hand training. And, finally, while Masters says she was kidnapped and she escaped the custody of her four kidnappers, there is no one at the scene to either corroborate or counter her story. Given the other murders …” Holder trailed off.

Meg scoffed and leaned back in her chair crossing her arms over her chest. She and Holder stared at each other frostily.

“Mr Fitzgerald,” Crowley’s lilt was undergirded with good humor, “your thoughts, please?”

“Of course,” Garth piped up, sitting forward in his seat. “Ms Masters, Ms Harvelle, and Mr Mulligan do not deny that they know each other, but only in the most casual of definitions. They know each other in the same way that people waiting in the long checkout line at the local Ikea know each other. Dr Moore doesn’t deny that she came in with Detective Winchester, nor does she deny offering him the benefits of her medical training, all of which is consistent with her oaths as a medical practitioner. In fact,” he paused, looking up at Holder, “if I understand you correctly, the sum of your case is that Detective Winchester has a fair few friends and a sister-in-law who cares for him.”

Holder ground his teeth, “friends who dress alike? Friends who coincidentally are all on the scene at the hospital at the same time?”

“Well sir, you look at a small group of people in coordinating clothes and think homicide, while I look at a small group of people in coordinating clothes and think volleyball team. One of us might need to speak with a therapist about his macabre fantasies.” Garth replied. Holder grimaced again and Garth responded, “careful now, I don’t know that I have another pencil.”

Holder took a breath to speak and Garth raised his hand, “no. Now see here. What you have just stated is entirely circumstantial and coincidental. It is hardly evidence in a criminal case. My clients are happy to cooperate with the police if you feel they may have some information to help seek justice in the kidnapping and assault of Detective Winchester, however, we protest the disruption to their lives as they care for their seriously ill brother and friend.”

Anita spoke up, “Garth, I think you, Mr Winchester, and Mr Crowley all know that investigations almost always begin with circumstantial evidence. They are taken to court after a case is built. Your clients can spare themselves the embarrassment and stress of a trial if they are willing to tell us their parts in all of this now.”

Crowley inhaled and exhaled loudly. “Well, this has been mildly diverting, but my plane is waiting, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Mr Fitzgerald?”

Garth pulled several packets of paper out of his briefcase, then he stood up and walked around the table placing one packet of paper each in front of Jo, Meg, Adam and Jess. “Your signatures, please?” he asked setting a pen on Jess’ stack. She quickly scanned hers, then signed the second page and passed the pen to Meg, who signed hers and passed it to Jo, who signed hers and passed it to Adam. Adam signed his and then collected the papers from the women and carried them to Garth who nodded, thanked him and passed them to Crowley. One of the federal suits came forward and took them from Crowley.

“Alright,” Crowley said, “now that we all have federal immunity against self incrimination for anything related to Richard Roman, his enterprises, and his operations, who killed this man?” Crowley asked pointing to the gory slide that was still on the screen above their heads.

“I did,” Jo answered, voice clear and calm. "I ran through the kitchen to get to the back room where Dean was being held. This guy was in the kitchen and pointed a gun at me. Instead of pulling my gun, I just sped up and ran him down. I knocked his head on the floor, but finished him with the knife in my boot because I didn’t want him at my back and conscious while I was hauling Dean out of there. I didn't know what state Dean might be in, and I was planning on having my hands full. I used a knife because I didn't want ballistics traced back to my gun. My knife is a generic hunting knife sold all over the place.”

“Very good,” Crowley replied, smiling, “Dr Moore, who did you kill?”

“I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t see anything or anyone except Dean. But after what they did to him, I’d gladly have killed whoever touched him.”

Crowley nodded with his mouth in a tight, mock-serious frown. “Yes, just so. Mr Mulligan? Who did we kill?”

“Um, a couple guys in the hallway, and a guy in a closet. They were in the house where Dean, my brother, was tortured. I don’t like killing people, but they were going to kill him.” Adam shrugged and looked down at his hands.

“Of course,” Crowley tutted sympathetically, “and you Ms Masters?”

“Me?” Meg smiled, all teeth, “I did everyone else.” She paused. “Wait. Except the two guys in Deck park. I outsourced those.”

“You killed Dick Roman?” Anita asked, eyes narrowed.

“I like to think of it as assassinated, since he’s the head of an international criminal cartel, but sure, you can say I killed him,” Meg replied studying her fingernails.

“Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me, Meg,” Crowley’s voice was thick as molasses and just as sweet, “I almost forgot,” and he snapped his fingers and the other agent, who to this point had remained silent and unmoving, pulled a stack of papers from his bag and proceeded to walk around setting one in front of each person at the table. Crowley continued, “as Mr Roman’s criminal enterprises were under investigation by the Department of Homeland Security and are considered a matter of national security, you are all enjoined to strict confidentiality in these matters. You may not speak about, write about, or otherwise think about anything related to this case, these persons, or these events. Please sign the agreement that has been placed in front of you.”

Anita set her jaw in fury, but she signed her paper, as did everyone else. The fed walked around the room collecting the signed copies.

“What am I supposed to do with all of these open files then?” asked Anita in clear frustration.

“Close them,” Crowley quipped all glib bravado. “Declare yourselves triumphant against organized crime. Defenders of the little people, and all of that. Give Ms Harvelle a medal for valor in the return of Detective Winchester. Then call it a night and go home.”

Anita glared at Crowley. His eyes narrowed, “this will not harm Ms Harvelle’s career,” he told her.

“Don’t think you can threaten me,” she told him. “You may have jurisdiction here, but you don’t have that kind of juice.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m reminding you of your good character.”

“The kind of good character sleazy operatives like you like to exploit,” she snapped back.

“Just so,” Crowley smiled. “Well, as this concludes our business, I expect you’ll be releasing these good people and removing their arrest records from your system?” Garth stood along with Crowley, everyone else looked to each other in confusion.

Anita interrupted, “just wait one moment. I am still going to hold Mr Mulligan on counts of vandalism and breaking and entering. He is in violation of his agreement to cooperate by even participating in this scheme, and no piece of paper from a federal judge is going to make that go away.”

“Hey!” Sam began but Crowley made a slicing motion with his hand.

“Of course,” he said, smooth and easy, “that is up to you, however, it will have to wait. Indefinitely, I’m afraid. By order of Homeland Security, Mr Mulligan will be joining my firm. We have a pressing need of his unique abilities.”

“And what would those unique abilities be, exactly, that no one else could take the place of this common thug?” Anita asked, tone laced with acid.

“Why, being Meg’s partner, of course. Come along, Ms Masters and Mr Mulligan. Our plane is on the tarmac and we need to be in DC in five hours.” And with that Crowley began walking toward the door. Meg stood and pulled Adam after her.

“Wait!” Dean wheezed reaching his hand out toward Adam.

“It’s OK, Dean. I want to go,” Adam told him. Eyes shimmering.

“I’ll take good care of him, cowboy,” Meg assured Dean, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head as she moved past him. “Come on, partner! People to do, things to eat!”

And with that, Crowley, the two feds, Meg and Adam exited the room leaving silence in their wake.

Garth cleared his throat and motioned everyone to rise with him. He put his business card on the table and chirped, “nice to see all y’all. Keep in touch!” Cas reached around Dean’s chest and practically lifted him out of his chair.

Anita looked down the table at them, “Detective Harvelle, take next week off. That’s an order. We’ll see you back here in two weeks. Detective Winchester, get your ass back to the hospital and the next time I see you in this building, it will be because you have been cleared by medical to be at work 100%. Get out. All of you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jo and Dean answered in unison.

And with that, the deputy chief stormed from the room, MK, Holder and Marks on her heels.

“Um, Cas,” Dean asked weakly.

“Yes?” Cas replied brushing the hair back from Dean’s sweaty forehead.

“Can you get me back to the hospital?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, we're almost there. One chapter left to close out book one! Hope you all enjoyed the arrival of Crowley.


	46. Epilogue

Cas watched Dean snoring softly in his drug-induced sleep. It had been an exhausting day, but Cas was breathing more easily for the first time in weeks. Sam assured him that the legal stuff was all done. Everyone would be fine. Jo really would get a commendation out of all of this. Cole’s name hadn’t even come up. The case was closed.

Dean would be released from the hospital in two more days. Then they could start on the long road of his recovery. Cas was exhausted, but he had one more thing to do.

The phone rang three times before the man at the other end of the call picked up.

Crowley: Yes?

Castiel: Crowley.

Crowley: Ah, Castiel. Good to see you today. I trust our Detective Winchester is safely tucked back into his hospital bed?

Castiel: Yes, he is.

Crowley: Oh, excellent. I reviewed his files, you know. Your boy Dean would make a nice addition to my team once he’s recovered.

Castiel: Don’t fuck with us Crowley.

Crowley: Why ever not, ducky?

Castiel: …

Crowley: Because that would be grounds for murder?

Castiel: Exactly that.

 

And then Cas disconnected the call.

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I can't believe I finished it! Thank you all for all of your love and support on this journey. You've been everything.


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